Blight-Queller
by lepolemicist
Summary: Grand Inquisitor, you accuse me of committing an atrocity, unrivalled in depravity since the Magi stormed the Golden City! I say that I stole the secrets of blood magic from the demons of the fade; I scaled the Tower of Ishal to grasp victory against the darkspawn at Ostagar; I slew the Archdemon with my magic to quell the blight itself. What need have I to defend myself?
1. Chapter 1 - Fire from the Gods

Summary:  
Grand Inquisitor, you accuse me of committing an atrocity,  
unrivalled in depravity since the Magi stormed the Golden City!  
I say that I stole the secrets of blood magic from the demons of the fade;  
I scaled the Tower of Ishal to grasp victory against the darkspawn at Ostagar;  
I slew the Archdemon with my magic to quell the blight itself.  
At this farce of a trial, what more of a defence do I need,  
but my deeds themselves?

**Blight-Queller  
**_Chapter 1  
_Fire from the Gods

-(=DAO=)-

There is a city, dead and broken and shattered by blight and blood magic.

In the city, there is a room, vast and dark and silent.

In the room, there is a man being tried for a crime so heinous it is yet without a name.

-(=DAO=)-

Grand Inquisitor, you have asked me many questions today, made many accusations, and needled me with many more insinuations. And I promise you that I will answer each and every one of them – questions and accusations and insinuations all. You need only listen to a story – my story – for without said story you will not understand the nature and the necessity of the tragedy that befell Denerim.

-(=DAO=)-

Where should we begin? This is a difficult question. Perhaps it will be best to start with my name.

Names are important. They tell you something of a man.

There are many different kinds of names.

There is the given name. It is the name given to you by your parents. It is the name that you yourself use, the name that is imprinted upon your soul, the name that never fails to turn your head when called.

Then there is the chosen name. It is the name you give yourself. It is the name that tells others of who you aspire to be, and of what you dream to do.

And finally there is the nickname, the sobriquet, the epithet. It is the name that others give you. In many ways it is the most important kind of name, for it shows who you are, and what you have done.

-(=DAO=)-

My given name is Amell. That's what I have always called myself, and it's what my friends call me, but strictly speaking, it's not my given name, as such. Amell is my family name. The Amells are – were? – a noble family based in Kirkwall. My uncle, Lord Aristide Amell, was in line to become Viscount of Kickwell. Alas, for my uncle's ambitions and my family's social standing, I was born! I exhibited magical abilities shortly after my birth, and everything that followed that revelation was as cruel as it was predictable. I was taken from my parents, and given over to the Ferelden Circle of Magi.

And so, first and foremost, I am a mage. I love magic more than life itself. It is the light of my life, the fire in my heart. My sin, my soul.

Forgive me if you think this unseemly, maudlin sentimentality, or if you think my waxing lyrical about magic is inappropriate in light of recent events in Denerim. I am merely trying to make you understand how important magic is to me.

Magic is simply part of who I am. I live it, and breathe it. Doing magic brings me a joy that I can only describe as _elemental_. No pun intended.

So imagine what it feels like to be part of the Circle of Magi. We are always under the vigilant, watchful eyes of the Templars. They are ever ready, ready to strike, to kill us for no crime but that of existing. We live in a prison, and in that prison we have no freedom, for the Templars are always there to punish deviancy, whatever the hell that is. The joy that magic brings us is corrupted and perverted by that ever-present fear that we will be branded _maleficar_.

You can tell that I strongly hate and mistrust the institution that is the Circle. It is a yoke that I have always longed to throw off for myself. Since my childhood, I have had fantasies of escaping the Circle Tower.

Slowly, but surely, a plan of escape emerged. It came about after years and years of discreet, meticulous research. The goal: to escape the Circle. Complication: the Templars keep phylacteries – vials of blood of all the magi – with which they can use to track down and kill any escapees. The system is foolproof – you might fight off one templar, or two, or three, or a dozen. But eventually you will be overwhelmed, and killed. Nor is constant running a solution. They will run you into the ground, like dogs. An elf named Aneirin holds the current record – of distance from the Circle Tower before being found and killed. He managed to make it all the way to the Brecilian Forest, before the Templars cut him down.

So, I had to destroy my phylactery. Thankfully, as an apprentice mage, my own phylactery was held at the Circle Tower itself. A full mage would have his phylactery stored at Denerim, and all the First Enchanters – all the leaders of any potential mage rebellion – would have theirs guarded in the Templar stronghold at the White Spire in Orlais. So as a mere apprentice, reaching and destroying my phylactery was comparatively easier – but still unfathomably difficult. To get into the phylactery chamber, located in the basement of the Circle Tower, you would have to get through a door immune to magic. I won't go into the details of the enchantments, but suffice to say they were old, and they were comprehensive. Destroying them was not possible, even for a prodigiously talented apprentice mage like myself. The only feasible way through the door was to unlock it manually. There are two keys; one held by First Enchanter Irving; the other held by Knight-Commander Greagoir.

Obtaining and making a copy of the First Enchanter's key wasn't too difficult. I was Irving's personal apprentice, after all. I spent quite a lot of time in his office, and knew a lot of his habits and routines. With a bit of effort and subterfuge, I managed to obtain and duplicate his key. The Knight-Commander's key, however, was a different kettle of fish. Being the paranoid bastard that he was, he carried the key with him everywhere he went, and slept with it too. He was no less vulnerable while sleeping, for as Knight-Commander he was always under personal guard by at least one templar.

The solution I came up with was ultimately blood magic. I would control Knight-Commander Greagoir, take his key, enter the phylactery chamber and destroy all the vials there, before making my escape. Templars – especially an old, seasoned hand like Greagoir – are highly resistant to magic, but against blood magic there is no defence. There is a reason why the Tevinter Imperium managed to conquer the world using blood magic. There is a reason why blood magic is feared and hated throughout the known world. There is a reason why the Templars are utterly ruthless in stamping out the art. And all those reasons brought me to the conclusion that blood magic would buy me my freedom.

Evil? Spare me your hypocritical judgements, Grand Inquisitor. Why should a slave empathize with the slaver? If I had to bathe in the blood of ever Templar in the tower to get my freedom, I would have gladly done so.

-(=DAO=)-

But I see I have piqued your interest with my mention of blood magic. Fair enough. Blood magic, is, after all, the reason why Denerim is the haunted ruin it is today. So let me explain and explicate the nature of blood magic.

There are many misconceptions about blood magic, but the first and greatest is the utterly preposterous belief that blood magic is about the manipulation of blood. No. A thousand times, no. People who think that the art is connected to manipulating blood are mentally-challenged ignoramuses.

Blood magic is about the manipulation of the mind. By manipulating one's own mind, one can increase the amount of magical energy that one can channel from the Fade. By manipulating the minds of others and using them as conduits, you can draw even greater magical energy out of the Fade, into the material world. But the most important consequence of all this is that you can better access the Fade, from which you can touch the minds of others, and do unpleasant things like setting afire every nerve in their body, and putting them in the most agonizing pain imaginable. And of course, such access to the Fade allows for blood magic's signature, flagship ability – mentally controlling others.

Blood magic is dangerous. That much is true. Extended and repeated channelling of the raw fade turns you insane. In fact, that was the very reason the Tevinter Mages turned to using slaves as sacrifices, using their minds as expendable channelling fonts – the mages themselves were either mad, or trying to avoid madness. And that - the use of human sacrifices - along with the manipulation of others' minds, raises a whole hornet's nest of ethical issues. Blood magic is dangerous, and in many cases, its use is not merely illegal but immoral. That much I will not deny.

Why is blood magic named as such, if blood isn't actually involved? It's a matter of historical dispute. The traditionalist view is that the overuse of blood magic and the channelling of too much magical energy bring the risk of aneurysm, with visible bleeding from the eyes and nose and mouth of a blood mage not uncommon. The revisionists say it is because slaves marked for sacrifice were often cut up and given non-fatal wounds – to weaken their mental fortitude and make them more susceptible to mental manipulations. The post-revisionist view is the simplest, and most poetic, I think – blood magic got its name because its practitioners were often mad psychopaths with the bad habit of killing people through bloody means. Take your pick.

There were many blood covens in the Circle Tower, as I later found out. I never joined up with any of them, of course. For one, I didn't know that they existed, though I always had my suspicions. Secondly, there was no way to find and contact another blood mage. How would you go about it? Who could you trust? Who would you approach? One wrong word, to the wrong person, in the wrong place, and you would die by the Templar's cold, steel blade.

Why trust people, when you can trust books instead? Of course, blood magic is highly illegal, and its books banned. Still you can't outlaw everything, and there were books, especially the ones only marginally about blood magic, that escaped the Circle's censorship. From these precious books, and with my own immodest abilities, I managed to learn a significant amount of blood magic. Enough to channel the raw fade, through myself or through others, and enough to let me do rudimentary mental manipulations like triggering seizures in the nervous system.

But I could never find or extrapolate the secret I most desired – mind control. The single, most powerful magic in the world. The key to a successful escape attempt from the circle. I was determined to obtain it. So I resolved to do what the Magi of old did, and enter the Fade and learn blood magic from the immortals themselves.

-(=DAO=)-

Ah, is that a look of unmitigated disgust on your face, Grand Inquisitor? Consorting with demons? True, though I must say, I've done worse than _consort with demons_. But do me the favour of ceasing your petty moralizing, at least until my tale is over.

Where was I?

Yes – I wanted to steal fire from the Gods. The first of the magus cast themselves deep in the Fade in search of answers and power, always power. I would do the same, and delve into the Fade to find a demon, and obtain from it the secrets I desired.

The more I thought about it, the more attracted I was to the idea, like a moth to a naked flame. It wasn't just that I wanted my freedom; it wasn't just that I wanted the power of blood magic; it was more than that. I wanted to do something great, something significant, something incredible. Something difficult, that would prove my mettle.

Do you understand what's I'm saying? Do you understand that drive to do something that might be construed as reckless, just so to prove that you can do it? Do you understand that need to _transcend_?

Regardless.

The Fade is the metaphysical realm of magic, the land of will and power, the dream that never ends. It is hard to explain to a non-mage such as yourself, but I will try.

It is the Fade from which all magic derives. A mage has a special connection to the Fade, and from the Fade a mage can draw magical energy with which to do spells.

All sentient creatures are connected to the Fade, but can only enter the Fade unconsciousness, unintentionally – while dreaming. The dwarves, through long exposure to lyrium and thanks to genetic quirks, have lost their connection to the Fade, and thus do not dream, nor can they use magic, but in compensation they do have greater magical resistance. As an interesting aside, dwarves who live on the surface tend to lose, over time, that magical resistance. It has been theorized by a very clever dwarven friend of mine, that in the long run dwarves can even re-establish their connection to the Fade. They will acquire magic, and will be able to dream again.

But I digress.

The important thing about the Fade which ever child knows, is that it is populated by spirits. There are the benevolent spirits, not averse to helping humans or magi lost in the Fade. Then there are the wisps, weak spirits that do nothing and are of not much interest to anyone. And then there are the demons.

Lord and Masters of the Fade, they embody the darker parts of our psyche. Lust. Gluttony. Greed. Sloth. Wrath. Envy. Pride. The emotions the Chantry calls the seven deadly sins.

Demons seek to enter the material world. Mages make tempting targets, given their preternatural connection to the Fade. A demon that possesses a mage becomes an abomination. Demons can also possess the dead, giving rise to revenants, possessed corpses, animated skeletons, and all matters of unpleasant, shambling things. That said, demons do not need hosts to enter the material world – they can be shades, shadowy creatures that are the naked forms of demons without a host.

But I am preaching to the choir, of course. You, Grand Inquisitor, will know all that, and more.

So let me tell you something about demons that you most certainly did not know.

Demons are, in most relevant aspects, identical to humans. They have motivations, beliefs and their powers, though great, are limited. And thus, they can be negotiated and bartered with. They can be tricked and deceived. They have weaknesses that can be exploited, as their very names like _pride_ or _lust_ remind us. All that is possible, of that I assure you.

Is this so surprising? Demons are the pale reflections of the minds of people. They are the shadows of our sapience. They are echoes of our desires and ignorance and weaknesses. They are the children of men, and are just as flawed and exploitable as we are.

Understand this. I do not fear the demons. Respect them, yes. Treat them with the appropriate caution, always. Prepare carefully for any possible confrontation, of course. But fear? Never.

The demon I sought was Superbia. _Pride_, in the Old Tongue. What a wonderfully apposite name, for the oldest and greatest of the Pride demons. More commonly, he is just known as the Formless One, for his abilities to shapeshift. And that, by the way, betrays his incredible might. Shapeshifting is not uncommon in the Fade, but shapeshifters tend to be limited to one form – a form that reflects their personality. To have mastery over a thousand and one forms, as Superbia does, shows a complete mastery of the Fade and all its magics.

I sought him out, rather than the other legendary demons like Xebenkeck, Imshael and Gaxkang. The reason for this is rather simple – Superbia is unlike the other demons, in that his pride is a complex one.

If you would excuse some philosophizing – the ancient philosophers distinguished between two kinds of pride. One kind of pride is _nobility_ – thinking oneself worthy and capable of great things. The other kind of pride is _hubris_ – thinking oneself superior by tearing others down, and shaming them for your own gratification.

Most Pride demons are of the latter kind, more interested in destruction and showing their own superiority.

Not Superbia. His pride is of the former – pride that comes from being confident in one's own abilities.

The Formless One understands that magnanimity is part of true greatness. Lesser demons might lash out in fits of destruction, to soothe their insecure pride. Greater demons, assured in their own power, feel no need for such childish antics, and are not averse to acts of generosity.

And thus, Superbia has always taught magic to those who came seeking. All you need to do is to pass his tests, and show yourself worthy of being his student. Though he is recorded as killing those who fail him and his tests, I was confident in my abilities. I was, if nothing else, a brilliant student.

All this I learnt through books from the Circle's Library. Books on the Fade experienced far less censorship than books on blood magic proper. After all, the Fade is the source of magic, and to try to criminalize books on the topic would be to criminalize the study of magic itself. Even the Templars, with all their ruthless zealotry, did not think to do that.

Or perhaps all those books, especially the ones on demons, were left there on purpose. Perhaps they were meant as a warning to young, ambitious magi such as myself. They all tell stories, of mages who tried to steal fire from the gods and got burnt to ashes for their pride. History was rife with examples of mages who tried to make deals with demons, only to get tricked and possessed. In my arrogance, I thought myself invincible, exempt from the laws of history. I thought myself sure to succeed.

And I did, but almost at the cost of my life.

-(=DAO=)-

On the summer solstice of the thirtieth year of the Dragon Age, I used liquid lyrium to breach the Veil, and crossed into the Fade for the first time.

Entering the Fade, I found myself in a warped version of the courtyard outside the Circle Tower. The buildings were in ruins, the statues had grown various additional appendages, and the trees were twisted. I had expected this, but it was still unsettling. You see, the Fade is the realm of dreams, and it draws upon your experiences and emotions in constructing itself. There was symbolism everwhere. The courtyard – to me, who have lived my whole life imprisoned in the Circle, it represented the outside world and the promise of freedom. Meanwhile, everything was strange and sinister, because I was feeling apprehensive – understandable, I'm sure you agree, since I was about to confront a demon.

Beyond my immediate surroundings, the Fade was... awesome. Awesome and overwhelming and sinister, and a thousand other things. Looking up, you see neither sun nor moon nor stars, but the sky is nonetheless lit, with a soft, green glow. All around, rocks float in mid-air, in apparent defiance of the laws of nature. And looking down into the depths, you see the churning, howling blackness of a primeval ocean. It was an abyss that one dared not stare into for too long, less it ate you. No, I'm not joking.

And in the distant, you see _it_, floating, the only constant landmark in the Fade. Far away, but not so far. Near, but never near enough to see clearly. The Black City, once golden, but corrupted when Magi invaded it. A place where even the demons fear to tread.

The Fade is an wondrous, terrifying place, is it not? But all I have described is but half of the story.

Here is the other half – the Fade is not just what is seen, but what is felt. It takes some time for you to be aware, but then it hits you. That nagging sensation you had all along? That eerie sense of being watched? That sense that there was someone nearby, though no one is visible? It all comes to together, when you realize that the Fade is alive, and aware, and pulsing with intentionality. The Fade is, first and foremost, a macrocosm of the mind. It is realm of dreams, and here, everything is determined by the will, not by natural laws.

Keep that fact in mind. For something to happen in the Fade, all you need to do is to will it to be.

Do you recall that I told you, at the beginning of my story, that names are important? Yes? Good, because that is especially true in the Fade. To speak of, or even think deeply about a name, is to call to and summon the creature thus named. Hence the taboo against speaking the names of demons, even in the material world – the ancients learnt the hard way, that it was folly to Name creatures powerful enough to rip your soul apart.

I did it anyway.

I spoke clearly, enunciating the ancient demon's name. I concentrated my thoughts on the demon itself, and _willed_ myself to find him.

The Fade blurred before my eyes, like a ripples formed by a stone thrown into a pond. After a short while, the rippling resolved.

I was standing on a snowy precipice of a mountain, just below the summit itself. Above me, the clear blue sky stretched as far as the eye could see, the Black City the only visible blemish. Below, a sheer drop to the valleys beneath. It was breath-taking. I think I could have stood there for an eternity, marvelling at the beauty of it all.

It occurred to me then, that it had to have been a truly might demon that could shape the landscape of the Fade, from one horizon to the next.

But the time for hesitance and second-thoughts was over. I turned away from the cliff, and made my way up the short, steep road to the summit.

On the summit, there was a throne, as large as a small house.

And on the throne, there sat a demon. It was coloured the deep purple of a fresh dawn. Enormous, ridiculously muscled, and spiked all over, it had a tremendous physical presence. But what was really unsettling was that you could feel, radiating out from the demon, a harsh pride and the terrible power to back that pride up.

This was a creature that thought itself equal to the world.

Perhaps it was.

Fear and apprehension crept up on me, but I blanked my mind and forced myself to concentrate only on the task at hand. There was no room for fear. Fear corrodes your will. It feeds the very demons you mean to oppose. In the Fade, fear is death. I banished mine as best I could, and settled my mind into a tranquillity my heart did not feel.

I stepped forward, greeted the demon lord, and explained my purpose.

The demon was silent for a few moments that seemed like an eternity, before speaking, in a voice deep and deadly.

"_Mage. Pass three tests of my devising, and I will teach you the secrets you desire. Fail, and I will eat you alive. Do you understand?_"

I noted to myself that he was asking for my understanding, not for my compliance. Having approached him, there was no backing out now. Still, I understood that from the beginning.

I assured him that I understood the terms.

"_Then let us begin._"

-(=DAO=)-

"_This is the Test of Desire._"

I was in a dark forest. Looking up, I could see blue sky and a steep mountainside. We were still in Superbia's domain – at the bottom of a valley. Superbia was nowhere in sight, though I could feel his presence and his voice echoed in the clearing that I was in. There was nothing of interest here, save for a tall torch mounted in the middle of the clearing. Even from a distance away, I could feel the heat of the fire.

"_This test is as simple as it is fundamental._"

"_You will put your hand into the fire, and grasp firmly the rims of the torch. You will do that for a minute, and not a second less. You are not allowed any mental trickery – there will be no pretending that the fire is anything but a fire._

"_Let us see how badly you desire the secrets of magic, Mage._"

I admit, I was relieved. I was worried that Superbia might have decided upon a far more difficult test, but this – this was easy.

Let me explain.

My main competency as a Mage is _Elementalism_. I study and control the elements – ice and fire, lighting and earth. In combat, I rely primarily on generating flames, and manipulating the cold.

And the first truth that any _Elementalist_ mage learns, is that you cannot, _ever_, be afraid of the elements you seek to command. You want to call down fire and lighting on your enemies? You want to shatter them with the power of winter, or to have the earth itself swallow them whole? Fine. Just be sure that the things you seek to master, have no mastery over you. Thus, the very first lesson we undergo, is what the Enchanters call the _Test of the Burning Branch_. Colloquially, we mage apprentices called it _Sado-Masochism_, or simply, _Fucking Retarded_.

It's quite simple. You take a tree branch, you light it on fire using mundane means like poking it into the hearth, and then you put a finger into the flame.

The trick, as all apprentices learn, is not to somehow stop the fire from hurting you. The trick, as it were, is to not let the pain bother you.

So I reached out to the torch, put my hand into the licking flames, and gripped the rims of the torch. A part of my brain noted that this exposed the palm of your hand, maximizing the surface area to be blistered and burnt by the fire. For a minute, I let my hand be roasted.

How did it feel like? Well, it was painful. You could say it was excruciating.

That said, my hand wasn't injured, physically. After all, we were in the Fade. It wasn't air we were breathing, or ground we were standing upon, nor was it an actual fire burning my real hand.

What was real was the pain – your mind tricks you into thinking that the fire is real, and presto! the pain is real as well. There are, of course, ways to avoid that. It's not terribly difficult to remind your mind that it is all a dream, an insubstantial illusion. And as your ignorance slips away, so too does the pain.

But Superbia had warned me against such "mental trickery". The test wasn't about how well I could manipulate the Fade – it was about how deeply and sincerely I wanted to learn the secrets of blood magic from him.

Well, I wanted that – badly. I wanted my freedom, I wanted blood magic, and most particularly I wanted to do something as notable as learning magic from the demons. No mere fire, and no mere pain, would get in my way.

I told Superbia as much, and he laughed, a deep, rather disturbing laugh that echoed through the clearing.

"_Fine. You pass the first, and easiest test, Mage. We shall proceed to the second._"

-(=DAO=)-

"_This is the Test of Wit._"

Again, I was still within Superbia's domain, as the blue sky above made it clear. This time, however, I was on a sharp outcrop of rock some way up the mountain. There wasn't any snow, for we were not anywhere near the summit, but it was still a dizzying drop to the ground below. Superbia was once again not physically present, and was just a disembodied voice echoing off the mountain.

"_As the test before was straightforward, this test will be complex._

"_Follow the trail out from this outcrop, and head up the mountain. You will encounter other demons. Deal with them as you must. When you have passed the Test, you will know it, and I will appear to you to signal its end._

"_Keep your wits about you, Mage._"

I looked around, and saw only one path out of the outcrop. I headed for that path, and started the trek up.

By and large, nothing happened. I paid especial attention to walking, to be sure I did not slip and fall. In real life, the trek would have been tiring, especially for a rather unfit bookworm such as myself, but in the Fade muscles mean nothing – all you had to do to avoid fatigue was to understand – truly understand – that it was all a dream, albeit a very life-like one.

After some ten minutes of walking, I came across a mouse. I was instantly on my guard. Things in the Fade are not as they seem.

Then it started speaking.

"Someone else thrown to the wolves. As fresh and unprepared as ever.

"It isn't right that they do this, the templars. Not to you, me, anyone."

While I was merely cautious before, when the mouse began talking, my paranoia became fully engaged, and I was ready to obliterate the talking animal with all the magic at my disposal. The mouse was obviously a shapeshifter, and I would have a fight on my hands if this were a demon out to kill me and possess my body.

Little did I know the truth.

In any case, I asked the shapeshifter what he wanted.

"Ah. I suppose you would be more comfortable with my true form."

Having said that, the mouse started glowing, and morphed into a man wearing mage robes.

"Allow me to welcome you to the Fade. You can call me... well, Mouse."

Warily, I asked if he were once an apprentice mage who failed his Harrowing.

The Harrowing is a test that most apprentice mages are made to go through by the Circle. If you pass the test, you become a mage, and a full member of the Circle of Magi. If you fail, you will die. You can refuse to undergo the Harrowing, but the price of that is being made Tranquil. Sometimes, when an apprentice mage is deemed too deviant or too dangerous, they will not even have the chance to undergo the Harrowing – Tranquillity is forced upon them.

And what is a Tranquil? The name sounds nice, and peaceful, and gentle, does it not? But it is anything but that. Being made Tranquil involves severing a Mage's connection to the Fade, with the consequence that the Mage cannot be possessed by demons, nor do magic, nor feel any emotions. It is horrible fate. It is the ultimate evil. Grand Inquisitor, your Chantry, hypocrites that you are, decry blood magic, but how is the Rite of Tranquillity any better? Indeed, most blood magic only kills or enslaves; the Rite, without fail, destroys a fundamental part of your _humanity_.

Do you honestly believe that it is a necessary evil?

Truly?

Then perhaps we two are not so very different after all.

But that is not to the point. We are not debating ethics, though that is a favourite pastime of mine. Let us return to the topic at hand.

The Harrowing – the test itself involves ingesting liquid lyrium and entering the Fade. In the Fade, you will confront a demon, summoned by the senior mages, who promise it the chance to possess a mage's body. The test is designed to root out mages who are not strong enough to resist demonic possession. If you best the demon, you keep your life and are promoted past apprenticeship. If you fail, as many do, then you become an abomination, which the vigilant templars will then destroy.

Lambs to the slaughter.

Of course, the Harrowing is meant to be top secret. Still, you can't stop everyone who has undergone to Harrowing from talking – that would basically be every Mage in the Circle, ever. It wasn't difficult to discover everything about the Harrowing that I wanted to know.

Incidentally, it was my own Harrowing that pushed me to make my journey into the Fade at the summer solstice. It is customary that apprentices are not made to undergo the Harrowing until they reach eighteen and thus the age of consent – so that they'll be consenting adults capable of "agreeing" to the test or to the Rite of Tranquillity.

Harrowings are sometimes delayed by a few years, if the senior enchanters do not think an apprentice ready for the test.

I, on the other hand – and here, let me put aside all false modesty – was a prodigy, and Irving's own favoured apprentice. He would let me take the test as soon as possible, which would be my birthday in early winter. Naturally, failure was not an option, and I would be forced to pass the Harrowing with flying colours. And then my Phylactery would be sent to Denerim, out of my grasp forever. So, I didn't have much time to prepare, and I had to complete my journey into the Fade as soon as possible.

Ironically, it was my Harrowing that allowed me to do so much research on the Fade and demons. Irving indulged me, and lent me a lot of books I would not otherwise have managed to obtain. He doubtlessly thought I had resourcefully found out about the Harrowing, and was secretly studying and preparing for it, so he tried to help as best as he could.

He was like a father to me.

Do I want to say more?

No.

Let us avoid going on too many tangents. To return to the topic of the second test, the Test of Wit: I suspected Mouse to be an apprentice that had failed his own Harrowing.

What reason did I have to believe such a thing? Well, for one, he wore mage robes, and spoke and acted like an apprentice. Secondly, mages can remain in the Fade, mentally, even as their physical bodies are destroyed. And thirdly, his shapeshifting form was that of a mouse. As I've mentioned before, shapeshifters in the Fade tend to turn into animals that reflect their personalities. A person's shapeshifted form being a mouse – that shows that the person _thinks_ of themselves as a mouse. It suggests that they are cowardly, more inclined to hide than fight. No demon would ever take such a pathetic form, let alone the demons of Pride and Envy – the ones most likely to try to deceive humans in the Fade. From all these subtle clues and pieces of information, I deduced that he was what he seemed to be – a mage apprentice who ran away from the demon during his Harrowing, following which the Templars destroyed his body, for fear it would be possessed.

I thought I was so clever, to have deduced so much from so little.

That was my first error in judgement.

Regardless, Mouse answered my query.

"Yes, I... I did undergo the Harrowing. It's fuzzy, that time before. They wake you up in the middle of the night and drag you to the Harrowing chamber and then...

"The templars kill you if you take too long, you see. They figure you failed, and they don't want something getting out.

"That's what they did to me, I think. I have no body to reclaim. And you don't have much time before you end up the same."

So, Mouse was apparently mistaken about why I was in the Fade – he thought that I was undergoing my own Harrowing. I did not bother correcting his misunderstanding – I could use some help, and regardless, there was nothing that I could do for Mouse himself, if his physical body really was destroyed.

Mouse agreed to help me as best he could, by scouting out ahead. We continued our walk up the steep mountain trail, Mouse always ahead by some distance, to forewarn me of any danger.

Eventually, we reached another small outcrop of rock. On it, there was a sloth demon, lazing about, in the form of a Bereskarn – a bear corrupted by the blight. Spiked and bloody, it looked a cross between a bear and a porcupine. Unlike Superbia, who radiated pride, this one just... gave off the sense of utter laziness.

I was ready for it – Mouse had alerted me sometime before hand, that there was a demon waiting.

"_Hmm... so you are the mortal being hunted? And the small one... is he to be a snack for me?_"

"I don't like this. He's not going to help us. We should go..."

Mouse, who had turned back into his human form, was obviously apprehensive about the demon. I, on the other hand, was intrigued by what the sloth demon said. From his words, I judged that there was another demon somewhere in the area, ready to attack me. That demon would be the true test, and this sloth demon was a mere distraction. It seemed too lazy to even bother doing what demons were supposed to do – attack and possess mages.

"_No matter. The demon will get you, eventually, and perhaps there will even be scraps left._"

I asked the sloth demon what he knew of his compatriot, the one ostensibly hunting me. Every bit of information is useful in combating a demon. In response, however, the great demonic bear simply laughed. His was a throaty, gruff laugh – not as disturbing as Superbia's, but still, it was unsettling.

"_I know that you will fail your test and he will eat you._

"_Begone! Surely you have better things to do than bother Sloth, mortal. I tire of you already._"

I wasn't about to give up wheedling him for information. I repeated my request for advice.

"_You look powerful enough. Why would you need my advice? Go, use your magic since you are so... proud of it._"

Mouse chipped in.

"He looks powerful. It might be possible that he could... teach you to be like him."

"_Like me? You mean teach the mortal to take this form? Why? Most mortals are too attached to their forms to learn the change._

"_You, on the other hand, little one, might be a better student. You let go of the human form years ago._"

"I... don't think I'd make a very good bear. How would I hide?"

Mouse's spinelessness was starting to annoy me. Hiding doesn't solve anything. We had to face our fears, and I reminded Mouse of that.

"'_We?_' I have faced more in this place than you can imagine. Fear is... just one more thing.

"But... you are right. Hiding doesn't help. I'm sorry, it's the Fade. It changes you.

"I'll try. I'll try to be a bear. If you'll teach me."

"_That's nice. But teaching is so exhausting. Away with you now._"

Mouse sighed in exasperation.

"_I told you he wasn't going to help us._"

I cajoled the demon, asking him to teach Mouse, since Mouse was willing to learn. I reminded him that the idea was his, in the first place.

"_You wish me to teach my form, mortal? Then I have a challenge for you: Answer three riddles correctly, and I will teach your little friend._

"_Fail, and I will devour you both. The decision is yours._"

At that instance, I thought I had finally understood the second test. It was supposed to be a test of wit, and by answering the demon's riddles, I would be proving my wit, just as I had proved my resolve in the first test.

That was my second error in judgement.

In any case, I accepted the challenge.

"_Truly? This gets more and more promising._

"_My first riddle is this: I have seas with no water, coasts with no sand, towns without people, mountains without land. What am I?_"

Ha. That was easy. A map, what else?

The sloth demon harrumphed, seemingly put off by the ease with which I answered his riddle.

"_Correct. Let's move on._

"_The second riddle: I'm rarely touched, but often held. If you have wit, you'll use me well. What am I?_"

This one was harder. But after some thought, I found the answer: my tongue. The riddle was pretty clever – a riddle about a riddle.

"_Yes, your witty tongue. Fair enough. One more try, shall we?_

"_Often will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee. I'll amuse you an entire eve, but, alas, you won't remember me. What am I?"_

A dream. I answered the sloth demon's third and final riddle.

Again, it harrumphed. It seemed quite fond of doing that.

"_You are correct. Rather apropos here in the Fade, no?_

"_But you've won my challenge and proven yourself an amusing distraction. So, I shall teach you my form. Now listen carefully..._"

I won't bore you with the details of how Mouse learnt to shapeshift. Suffice to say, it involved willpower, and imagining yourself as the animal you want to change into. Mouse successfully learnt the transformation, and we were quickly on our way again.

Finally, we reached another rocky outcrop. It was relatively large, and ringed by circles of fire. In the centre of that ring of fire, was a demon of rage. Red and burning, it looked like a posturing piece of lava. It radiated malice, and rage, as was typical of its kind.

I was ready for it – Mouse had again alerted me in advance of a demon's presence.

"_And so it comes to me at last._

"_Soon I shall see the land of the living with your eyes, creature. You shall be mine, body and soul._"

Idle threats. I told the demon that it was welcome to try my power, if it dared.

"_Oh, I shall._

"_So this creature is your offering, Mouse? Another plaything, as per out arrangement?_"

Betrayal! My eyes, which had been fixed on the demon up till that point, darted away to glance at Mouse, before I forced myself to concentrate on the demon again. It was foolish to get distracted at this stage.

"I'm not offering you anything! I don't have to help you anymore!"

I admit, I was caught off guard. My assumptions about Mouse were wrong – he was not merely an apprentice mage lost in the Fade. He had obviously done sinister things – betrayed others to this demon of rage.

"_Aww. And after all those wonderful meals we have shared? Now suddenly the mouse has changed the rules?_"

"I'm not a mouse now! And soon I won't have to hide! I don't need to bargain with you!"

No matter. None of it mattered. My spells were ready, and I could destroy Mouse as easily as I could destroy the demon of rage. I thought that Mouse's deception was inconsequential.

That was my third error in judgement

Still, I was rightly confident in the two spells I had prepared, and in their ability to bring me victory. The spells were: _Spell Might_, and _Mana Clash_. Allow me to explain what they do, and therefore, why I was so confident in my success.

_Spell Might_, back in the material world, allows a mage to draw much greater power from the Fade then they would otherwise be able to. You might ask: How is this different from blood magic?

Think of it this way. Imagine a mage's link to the Fade as an aqueduct, and the water that runs in it, as magical energy. The more the water, the greater the amounts of magical energy available to the mage for spellcasting. What blood magic does is to forcibly widen the aqueduct pipe, no matter the stress exerted on and damage done to the aqueduct itself. And since, in our analogy, the aqueduct is basically a mage's mind... well, brain damage and loss of sanity are concerns.

_Spell Might_ is nothing like this.

To use the same analogy: what Spell Might does is to force the water in the aqueduct to flow faster. Or, to move away from the analogy – a mage using _Spell Might_ will allocate some of his magical energy to increase the rate of flow of magical energy in from the Fade. On the whole, this makes a greater amount of magical energy available, strengthening one's spells, without invoking all those complications and dangers that blood magic is infamous for.

In the Fade, using Spell Might is easy, trivially so. It's like filling a bucket with water when you have already dived deep into the sea. All you need to do is gather the magical energy around you, and direct it.

As for _Mana Clash_ – in all truth, this spell is much more like blood magic than _Spell Might_.

I say this because _Mana Clash_ is fatal to the targets it is used on, and it is almost impossible to defend against.

What _Mana Clash_ does is to seize the magical energy within a target, and cause it to erupt in a volatile, magical conflagration. It turns the target's own magical powers against them, and as you can imagine, it is supremely effective against any being capable of magic, whether mage or demon. And in the Fade – where everything is composed of magical energy – there is no better spell to use in a fight.

Certainly, the spell is dangerous. Any mage can use it to kill another mage. It is certainly a spell restricted only to full mages, though I managed to learn it from one of the books Irving lent me. He was rather lax with the rules, wanting to help his favourite student pass his Harrowing. When you want to destroy a demon, _Mana Clash_ is the first, last and only spell you will ever need.

So I cast _Mana Clash_, my own magical energies backed by the use of _Spell Might_. I was careful to include Mouse in the radius of the spell, along with the demon of rage.

The result was impressive in its anticlimactic nature. There was a flare of blue light, and the demon of rage disappeared. I knew – I saw – that the demon's consciousness had been torn into infinite, innumerable pieces, and dissolved back into sea of magical energy that was the Fade. It was as dead as anything could be. Still, I felt that it shouldn't have been so easy.

That said, I had bigger problems than my sense of aesthetics being offended.

Mouse wasn't dead. _He wasn't dead_. Despite my strongest spell, a spell that vanquished a demon – the treacherous apprentice mage was still _there_.

It was then that I realized the truth. All the small things that I missed, I now noticed.

The robes Mouse wore were not apprentice robes. They were senior enchanters'. True, in a small place like the Circle you would know everyone, and would never need to use a person's clothes to identify them. True, senior enchanters did not always wear their formal garb. True, Mouse spent a lot of time shapeshifted as either a mouse or bear, and didn't give me much of an opportunity to scrutinize him. But those were excuses. I should have noticed that small but important detail. I _should_ have, but didn't.

And then there was Mouse's shapeshifting. A single shapeshifting form, reflecting your personality is one thing. Two? For a mage not especially competent? For a form poorly suited to your personality? This should have set a million alarms off in my mind. It _should_ have, but didn't.

And then Mouse resisted my _Mana Clash_. For an apprentice mage to do that, when a mighty demon of the Fade got annihilated? No. It was impossible. If he were who he claimed to be.

But he wasn't.

Upset at the deception, and upset at myself for careless stupidity, I brusquely asked Superbia to reveal himself.

It was him, of course. Who else could it be? In his pride, he had refused to wear lowly apprentice robes, but opted instead for a senior enchancter's. And whose shapeshifting abilities were known and feared throughout Fade and material world alike? And who but the mightiest of demons could have resisted the _Mana Clash_?

I should have known. _Should_ have, but didn't.

Mouse glowed, and as the disguise faded, the Formless One arose.

"_Not bad. A little late, and you missed some of the hints I dropped. Still, it takes some intelligence to see past my disguise._

"_Remember this, if you remember nothing else:_

"_Simple killing is a warrior's job. The real dangers of the fade are preconceptions; careless trust; pride._

"_You have passed the second test, Mage. We shall now commence with the third._"

-(=DAO=)-

"_This is the Test of Magic._"

We were back on the mountain top, with nothing but blue sky above, and nothing but valleys beneath. Superbia was back on his throne, sitting there like he was king of the world. To be honest, I wanted to punch him in the face.

"_The first test was straightforward; the second, complex; this third test? Nearly impossible for those without the talent._

"_You wanted to learn the secrets of blood magic from me, did you not? In this test, I will teach you those secrets, and you will learn. All you need to do to pass the test is to demonstrate your proficiency at Blood Control._"

"_Come. Impress me, Mage._"

A human-sized chair, uncomfortable looking, rose out of the ground, directly in front of Superbia's own throne.

"_Sit._"

I sat.

"_Listen and learn. There are three essential steps that a mage in the material world would need to take, if he is to successfully control the mind of another mortal._

"_First: He must establish a sufficiently strong connection between his own mind and the Fade._

"_Second: He must establish a sufficiently strong connection between the Fade and his target's mind._

"_Third: He must, through the Fade, assert his will over the target. _

"_The first two steps are basic blood magic, which you are already proficient at. I will not insult you by lecturing you at length on things you already know. What you must do, as part of the Test of Magic, is to demonstrate your ability to dominate the mind._

"_You will engage a target within the Fade, and force your will upon it. If successful, you will be able to make it do your bidding. If you are capable of doing that, so too will you be capable of dominating a mortal's mind._

"_As for your target – I give you leave to choose your opponent. Benevolent spirit or demon, greater or lesser, it does not matter to me. Choose wisely."_

I looked Superbia in the eye, and told him calmly that I wanted him as my opponent.

Why so surprised, Grand Inquisitor?

I would have died? You concern for my well-being is touching. But I am here, so obviously I survived.

Why did I do such an irrational thing? That's a fair question. To be honest, I'm not sure if I know that answer myself.

Partly because I was still upset. Upset at Superbia for his deception, and wanting to get back at him. Upset at myself for having been deceived, and wanting to prove something to myself. Perhaps I was just angry, and my recklessness grew from that.

Maybe because I wanted to be sure that the blood control I learnt was the strongest it could possibly be. That meant testing it against the strongest demon there was. Testing it against some lesser demon might have meant that I never pushed myself and my magic as far as we could go.

And because, above and beyond all else, I came to the Fade to steal fire from the Gods, to forcibly pry it from their hands, and from no one less. I came here to do something momentous, something great, something worthy of the legends of old. I came here to _transcend_.

Superbia, though, wasn't very impressed with talk about transcendence.

"_Mortal. If that is a jest, I forgive you, and warn you never to make it again._"

I assured him that it was no jest. Superbia's voice was dark with barely constrained rage as he replied.

"_Foolish, arrogant mortal. Do you truly think you can best me? I, who have been here since the beginning of time? I, whose magic reaches from one end of the Fade to the other? I, who threw down Dumat himself?_"

I asked him if his pride could tolerate him turning down a challenge from a mere mortal mage. The demon was silent for a few seconds, before he spoke in a cold, flat voice.

"_Very well. Know this, mortal. On my pride, I swear I will destroy you._"

And then the terms of the challenge were set.

We would sit in our two chairs, face to face, utterly still. We would fight a contest of wills. The winner would be one who took control of the other's body, and made them move against their will.

It is hard to believe that a battle between armchair combatants could be suitably epic, but it was.

I was prepared for this confrontation, of course. Months of research and practice, just for this moment. I hadn't expected to be fighting Superbia himself, but my previous plans and contingencies would work as well on him as they would have on lesser demons.

The first order of business was defence – to prevent Superbia from controlling and moving any part of me. This is the easy part, because you are the natural sovereign of your own body, and controlling it comes as naturally as breathing. I _willed_, as hard and deeply and sincerely as I could, that my body not move, that it was as still as a corpse.

The second order of business was offence – to control and move part of Superbia's body. This is the truly difficult part, because by the same lines of logic outlined above, controlling another's body is unfamiliar and unnatural. All I did, and all I could do, was _will_, as fiercely as I could that Superbia move his right arm.

It didn't work, but that didn't worry me. As I've said, the defender is at an advantage, and the would-be invader, a disadvantage. We were in a stalemate of statues, and would remain as such until someone lost their concentration.

Thus the third order of business was distraction - to try to force the other into a mistake.

Superbia was singularly unimaginative in this regard, relying on physical distractions – inasmuch as you can call anything in the Fade 'physical'.

He summoned an inferno, sending it burning and roaring against me.

He shattered the mountain, spearing at me chunks of rock, each larger than the Circle Tower itself.

He called up a blizzard, directing it freezing and howling towards me.

He darkened the sky into a storm, and from that storm he plucked out the lightning itself, hurling it at me like an avenging thunderbolt.

_Boring_.

As awesome as those feats were, they were utterly and completely useless. I was a mortal, and used to living in the material world. I understood very well that the Fade was a dream, a mirage without substance. It was all too easy for me to tell myself that none of it was real. Superbia had the wrath of the elements at his command, but his attacks passed through me like light through glass.

Meanwhile, I preferred my distractions subtle.

To start off, I summoned wax earplugs for myself, following which I conjured up a cricket, small and inconspicuous. And as compensation for making it small and inconspicuous, I gave it the most annoying chirp I could think off – the sound of grating chalk on a blackboard. I let it sing, hoping to distract Superbia. Then, I pulled out the main trick – materializing a flare of light as bright as sun, right behind my head, shining straight into the taller demon's eyes.

To his credit, the demon didn't even blink.

I tried many other tactics. I don't really remember all of them, but one that stood out was me summoning a horde of illusory demons. I set them to taunting my opponent. Some of the taunts were relatively sophisticated, and mocked him for trying and failing to best a mortal. Other taunts were cruder, and were about penis size and the like.

He ignored this and all other attempts to needle him, but I did find it funny.

Do not think of this as useless. The fact that I found the situation funny at all was a triumph. I've told you before – fear will kill you in the Fade. In the situation I was in, any trace of fear would weaken my resolve and lose me both the challenge and my life.

Laughter, meanwhile, is anathema to fear. You cannot truly fear something you find hilarious. It was a way to keep up my own morale and defences.

I burnt through the list of distractions I prepared, until I had to resort to the final, rather desperate one. In the air above me, I spelt out in burning flame, the words "I SURRENDER". I had hoped he would fall for the trick, and, thinking he had won, relax his will, allowing me to pounce.

Again, I got no reaction.

So I moved on the fourth order of business – using the trump I had prepared for just this contingency, a contest of wills with a demon.

I relaxed my defence, letting Superbia's magic seep into my left arm. This was a delicate affair. I had to relax my defence enough to let him feel what I was feeling in my arm – but not enough to give him control over it.

As expected, he sensed the weaknesses and marshalled all his concentration to wrestle control of my own arm away from me. And in response, I set my arm alight.

Pain lanced through the entirety of my left arm. But I was prepared – I didn't flinch.

Neither did Superbia. I could see in his eyes, the shock and anger, as sympathetic pain raced through his own limb. Still, with a force of will, he kept his left arm still and unmoving, remaining as it was on his throne's armrest.

But for one instance – one fateful instance – he was distracted.

So I took control of his right hand, and casually, insolently slapped himself across the face with it.

I don't know which was sweeter – the look of utter incomprehension on Superbia's face as his mind tried to understand that he had been defeated by a human – or the elation of victory, and of the knowledge that I had stolen fire from the Gods, and escaped without having my liver eaten by an eagle.

-(=DAO=)-

Why had I won?

Because Superbia was blinded by his pride.

He kept waiting for me to slip up, thinking that it was inevitable, that I _had_ to. He thought that I couldn't suppress my fear forever – _as if I feared him_. His pride led him to fail to test my defences seriously.

Doubtless he had other nasty tricks up his proverbial sleeve, but he didn't think it necessary to wheel it out against a mere mortal. He kept resorting to the same, ineffective attempted distractions. It was insane – doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results.

But above all he thought a mere mortal could not have an advantage over him. He was wrong. Demons, due to their power and the environment of the Fade, rarely if ever feel pain. They have, effectively, little to no pain tolerance. The more powerful the demon, the less likely they are to experience pain, and the weaker their ability to cope when they do suffer pain. In the old stories, demons who possess humans often shriek and scream when you harm them. Well, now you know why.

I told you, earlier in this story, that demons had weaknesses. They wear their weaknesses openly, in their names, declaring them to the whole wide world. Pride and envy, wrath and sloth, greed and gluttony and lust.

I understood that, and because of my understanding, I was victorious.

-(=DAO=)-

I spent some time after that exploring the Fade, but soon enough I again passed through the Veil, to return home to the material world.

I did not get the homecoming I expected.

I woke up in a dark cell, shackled and bound at both wrist and feet, with my chains attached to the wall behind me.

The chains meant nothing to a trained mage, of course. What concerned me was the ward carved into the wall, above the door. I could make out a Glyph of Neutralization, which among other things completely prevents spellcasting within a certain area.

I could get rid of the Glyph, of course. I could literally scratch out the glyph and disrupt its magic. But that would require standing up and walking to the opposite wall, which I couldn't do given the chains. And naturally, I couldn't break the chains without my magic and without first destroying the glyph...

Chicken and egg. This was a prison capable of holding a mage. I was well and truly trapped.

No, this was certainly not the victorious return home I anticipated. I had been looking forward more to drinking myself unconscious with my friends, and less to sitting in dank cells.

I bit back a growl of frustration. Where had I slipped up? I was careful, and had chosen an empty, locked room in the abandoned Tower Basement, from which to cross into the Fade. It was supposed to be a safe place where my body could slumber in peace and without interference.

It was too late for self-recrimination. I had no choice but to try to talk my way out of this mess.

I hollered for the Templar guards that would be stationed outside the cell. One responded, and I demanded to know why I was being held here against my will. The templar – Cullen, I believe his name was – told me he wasn't authorized to discuss anything with me, but he said he would fetch Knight-Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving so I could speak with them.

As Cullen headed off to fine them, I worked my mind furiously, coming up with a dozen excuses and rationalizations I could use. I thought of possible lines of interrogation that Greagoir might make, and how I could further develop my answers. I thought of how I could appeal to Irving, and came up with defences designed to elicit the First Enchanter's sympathy. I had about ten minutes, and during those ten minutes my mind whirled with imaginary arguments and possible endings.

Footsteps echoed from the outside of my cell, and the door opened. Knight-Commander Greagoir, in his imposing Templar armour, stepped in, followed by First Enchanter Irving.

I admit, the disappointment in his eyes hurt me as nothing in Superbia's tests did.

I told him and Greagoir that this was surely a misunderstanding, and asked to be told of the crime I was accused of, so that I could explain myself.

Irving spoke, his voice gentle and mournful.

"Child. How could you have been so foolish? We know that you approached the Formless One, asking to be taught blood magic. We know because he himself told us. And imagine my shock and horror when, after an exhaustive search of the Tower, we found you unconscious with a empty lyrium vial beside you. You have always had more than a healthy interest in the more dangerous arts, but I never thought it would come to this."

Superbia! While I did expect revenge of some sort from him, I didn't think that it would be in such a fashion. After I walked away from his domain unscathed, and with Superbia himself only glaring hatefully at me, I thought I was safe.

I underestimated him.

I asked Irving whether it was fair or wise to take a demon at his words. I told the First Enchanter, honestly, that I had approached the Formless One, but not to learn blood magic. I said that I had wanted to practice for my harrowing. I said that I had angered him with my suggestion, and that this was doubtlessly his way of exacting revenge.

I wasn't proud of lying to Irving, but I did think that my lie was clever. It had enough of the truth that I could deliver it effortlessly, and enough falsity to suggest my innocence. The best lies are half-lies, those with a grain of truth in them.

Unfortunately, the Knight-Commander saw right through my carefully constructed bullshit.

"Enough. This particular demon has helped us conduct the Harrowing since the beginning of the Circle itself. We know enough of its personality to also know that it would not take offence at an apprentice seeking help for his Harrowing. You, on the other hand, are not the first mage to have tried to learn blood magic, though none before you were foolish enough to approach a demon to do it. Your lies are transparent."

I admit I was floored. Not at the venom in Gregoir's voice, but at the revelation that Superbia helped the Circle conduct its Harrowing. I knew that the Circle summoned demons with the apprentice mages as bait, but... this?

I tried to speak, but couldn't find the words. Greagoir then broke the silence.

"For the crime of consorting with demons to learn blood magic, you will be put to death. Do you have any last words to say, _Maleficar_?

I did not.

-(=DAO=)-

So that is how I earned my first epithet: _Maleficar_. I would be known by that name for quite a while. Loghain had a field day dragging the Grey Wardens' name through the mud, by invoking that sobriquet and all its negative associations.

And that is the story of how I stole the secrets of blood magic from the demons of the fade, and almost died for my trouble.

What's that you say? My testimony only convinces you that I am responsible for the catastrophe that befell Denerim? Yes. Yes, I suppose it would.

-(=DAO=)-

Grand Inquisitor, you accuse me of committing an atrocity, unrivalled in depravity since the Magi stormed the Golden City! I say that I stole the secrets of blood magic from the demons of the fade; I scaled the Tower of Ishal to grasp victory against the darkspawn at Ostagar; I slew the Archdemon with my magic to quell the blight itself. At this farce of a trial, what more of a defence do I need, but my deeds themselves?

-(=DAO=)-

There is a city, dead and broken and shattered by blight and blood magic.

In the city, there is a room, vast and dark and silent.

In the room, there is a man so incapable of living with his crimes that he does his best to convince the jury of his guilt.

-(=DAO=)-

A/N: Comments are welcome. Do tell me whether you think the story is interesting, and whether the Warden has enough believable flaws. It's kind of hard writing a character who is basically a Mary-Sue in canon, while making him or her relatable.


	2. Chapter 2 - Tower of Ishal

**Blight-Queller**

_Chapter 2_

Tower of Ishal

-(=DAO=)-

There is a city, dead and broken and shattered by blight and blood magic.

In the city, there is a room, vast and dark and silent.

In the room, there is a man whom some say is guilty of taking more lives than the blight itself.

-(=DAO=)-

Grand Inquisitor, you have fired off many questions at me, some penetrating, many more banal. But I am answering them, as promised, with the answers as long and comprehensive as they need to be. Be patient as I continue my story, for you cannot ascertain my guilt or innocence without it.

-(=DAO=)-

I began the story by talking about names and their importance. Now, if you will allow me a brief aside, I will talk about heroism.

As with names, heroism comes in three kinds.

The first kind of heroism is greatness. This is not about being good or moral or kind, but about achieving things that ordinary men can only dream of. The mythical heroes of antiquity, like Gilgamesh and Odysseus, were cruel, rapacious bastards, but people still admired them for their strength and wits and extraordinary deeds.

The second kind of heroism is altruism. This is heroism as it is commonly understood by people – putting the interests of others before that of your own. Heroes like Calenhad and Garahel were admired because they risked life and limb to defend the weak and protect the innocent.

The third kind of heroism is ruthlessness. This is heroism as it is commonly misunderstood – for people are too ignorant to understand that a hero has to seek the greater good, even at the cost of the lives of the innocents and even at the expense of the hero's own spiritual well being. Heroes like...

Hmm. No examples come to mind, actually.

Well, that's embarrassing.

-(=DAO=)-

I've always wanted to be a hero.

Intellectually, I've always understood that other people have interests and rights. We all want the same things, don't we? We don't want to die. We want the freedom to live our lives as we see fit. We want happiness, joy and fulfilment. And just as our own interests matters, so too do those of others. I understood this basic truth, and thus always sought to help others as best as I could, in matters big or small.

Emotionally, my own experiences in the prison that is the Circle Tower led me to hate any and all forms of authoritarianism, intimidation and bullying. I learnt to resent the Circle, not just because it restricted _my_ rights, but because it restricted the rights of innocent people who have committed no crime but that of having magic. To borrow the Lady Andraste's most famous quote: _Are we not men and brothers too?_ Is it not wrong and hypocritical for the Chantry to bleat piously that all men are born equal in the eyes of the Maker, while imprisoning some just because they were born different? Do not misunderstand – I am not a mage supremacist. I despise and loathe, to the depths of my soul, the slavers of the Tevinter Imperium. And incidentally, it is also my experiences in the Circle that led me to detest the institution of feudalism. Nobles are no better than the people they lord over and pretend to be superior to.

I have also never lacked for good role models. The First Enchanter is a wise, courageous and compassionate man. As a child, I would run to him – he was still a Senior Enchanter then – and complain about the rules and restrictions placed upon us mages. And he would explain to me, gently and clearly, the reasons for those rules being in place. He would tell me of how the mages once enslaved the entire world, from Par Vollen in the north to Ferelden in the south, from the Sea of Ash in the west to the Amarinthine Ocean in the east, and how people are rightfully scared and fearful of magic. He would teach me the importance of looking at conflicts from the eyes of the victims. From my academic studies, I learnt to think about the interests of others. From my experiences in the Circle, I learnt to resent injustice. But from Irving? From Irving, I learnt kindness.

And that is how I grew to care, deeply, about the good of others – to want to be a hero. I see on your face, Grand Inquisitor, a look of sceptical disbelief. I don't blame you, but I would like to remind you that I chose to fight the darkspawn, risking life and sanity in the process. Would a selfish person do such a thing?

-(=DAO=)-

And that brings us neatly to the topic of the darkspawn.

The darkspawn are the greatest threat to the world and all who live in it. About that there is no question, and of that there is no doubt. Doubt that the sun will rise, doubt that the moon will shine, but do not doubt the fact that the darkspawn will kill all and sundry if left unstopped.

Let us speak of how this world-ending threat arose.

The Magister Lords of the Tevinter Imperium, wreathed in magic and might, were kings ruling over all they saw. But in their infinite hubris, and goaded on by the Old God Dumat, they sought apotheosis and the power of the Maker himself. They sacrificed hundreds of slaves and used two-thirds of the world's lyrium supply, tearing a hole in the Veil to physically enter the Fade. They invaded the Golden City, the Seat of the Maker, Heaven itself. Their sin corrupted the city, turning it black, and the mages themselves were cast out as the first Darkspawn.

Or so the story goes, and so the Chantry tells us.

A myth. A fairytale. A morality play, meant to caution Man against the sin of pride.

Oh, in most important aspects the story is accurate. The Magister Lords were supremely arrogant, and the last people you would trust with power of any sort. They did try to invade heaven. And they did return, corrupted and twisted.

But the truth is that the Golden City was already black and corrupted before they entered. There is something in there, dark and malicious and more powerful than anything I have ever met. I admit that I do not fully understand what the Black City is, but here is my educated guess: just as the Fade is the realm of the mind, composed of our desires and beliefs and emotions, so too is the Black City our innermost psyche, home to our deepest, darkest secrets.

And with this knowledge in hand, so too can you understand how the darkspawn truly came about.

How do I know this?

Because I fought with the Archdemon Urthemiel in his mind, and I saw with mine own eyes the history of the world, when the world was young.

Here is the truth, if you will hear it. In the beginning, there were the Old Gods, proud and powerful and free. They demanded fealty and worship from the immortal elves, but the elves rejected them. The elves saw the Old Gods as false gods, and believed them to be the Forgotten Ones – a race of gods in opposition to the Elven Pantheon. So the elves fought a long, bitter and bloody war against the Seven, and finally managed to cast them down. The elves dared not kill them, however, for they believed that death would merely allow their enemies' souls to wander the Fade, seeking vengeance unto eternity. So with magic, the Dragons' connection to the Fade was severed. They were sealed into an unwaking, unending sleep, and with the help of the dwarves, imprisoned deep beneath the earth.

But time corrodes the strongest magicks, and over the millennia the seals weakened. The Seven regained their connection to the Fade, and they travelled throughout the realm of dreams, seeking revenge. They found the Tevinters, taught them blood magic, and in turn were worshipped with temples built and sacrifices made. By this time, the elves had forgotten their own history. But the Seven did not forget, and they certainly did not forgive. They whispered into the minds of men, and at the Seven's urging, Man went to war with the Elves. Humankind invaded the elven homeland of Elvhenan, sunk their capital of Arlathan with blood magic, and enslaved their whole race. Thus did the Seven have their long awaited revenge.

But they were still imprisoned, still trapped. So again the Old Gods whispered into the minds of men, this time goading them to invade the Black City. For it was known that the City held great power – power enough to break the Old Gods out of their long, forgotten, cloistered sleep. The Magi invaded heaven, were corrupted by the Black City, and then turned against the Old Gods. They sought them out, in the depths of the earth, to corrupt those who had corrupted them.

And the rest, as it were, is history.

The Blights began.

The first corrupted was Dumat, God of Silence, the Great Betrayer himself. The first Archdemon rose from the pits of the earth, and led a massive darkspawn horde in a rampage that would kill more people than there are people alive today. The first blight lasted almost two centuries.

The second corrupted was Zazikel, God of Chaos. The second Archdemon and his darkspawn horde ravaged the land, and entire generations lived and fought and died not knowing anything but blight. The Second Blight lasted ninety years.

The third corrupted was Toth, God of Fire. The third Archdemon and his horde spread devastation far and wide, and nowhere in central Thedas could you go without seeing smoke filling the sky, for all around there were destroyed towns and burnt fields. The Third Blight lasted fifteen years.

The fourth corrupted was Andoral, God of Slaves. The fourth Archdemon and his legion destroyed nations and cities and men, before Garahel put him down. The Fourth Blight lasted twelve years.

The fifth corrupted was Urthemiel, God of Beauty. The fifth Archdemon led his army and tried to desolate Ferelden, but we all know how that story ends, don't we? The Fifth Blight lasted less than a year.

Blights are dangerous, deadly occurrences. This is not merely because the darkspawn feel the need to kill us living creatures by sticking us with sharp objects. If so, a blight would be no different to war.

No. Blights are particularly menacing because the darkspawn spread their taint – their corruption. The taint brings about blight-disease. If you're lucky, you die from it. If not, you develop physical afflictions and mutations. If you're truly unlucky, you get to live in excruciating pain, while you slowly lose your mind and degenerate into a ghoul.

That said, blights kill as many as they do, not through violence and disease, but through famine. A blight infects crops and animals, poisons the water supply, and summons dark clouds that blot out the sun. In a blight, people have never enough to eat, and no means to grow more food. So even if you were fortunate enough to escape darkspawn attacks and the taint, you'll still die, starving and emaciated.

There is nothing in the world half as deadly as a blight.

And correspondingly, there is nothing greater in importance than stopping an Archdemon and his horde.

But how?

-(=DAO=)-

From that desperate question, the Grey Wardens were born.

The Grey Wardens were formed in -305 Ancient, in the Anderfels, when a group of soldiers, veterans of many darkspawn battles, joined together in a pledge to stop the Blight at all costs.

It was then suggested, by Nakiri of Donark, that the Wardens ingest darkspawn blood. The Donarks had the habit of drinking the blood of the enemies, to gain their strength, and Nakiri believed that the same would apply to imbibing darkspawn blood.

After many tests, and many lives lost, it was found that ingesting darkspawn blood could make you immune to the taint and to blight-disease.

And ever since, all Wardens undergo the Joining, wherein they imbibe darkspawn blood. Many died in the process, but others were reborn, strengthened and made invulnerable to the taint.

The Wardens first appeared at the city of Nordbotten, flying down upon their Griffons, slaying the darkspawn and halting the attack upon the city. It turned out that there was a second benefit to drinking the darkspawn blood. The darkspawn were disoriented by the taint within the Wardens, and could not distinguish friend from foe, and as such were far easier to kill.

The victory at Nordbotton gave the world hope when all hope seemed lost, for so very long. The Wardens went from strength to strength, gaining recruits, supplies and funding. They harried the darkspawn in surgical attacks, while leading and organizing the armies of the world in larger battles.

The Wardens were so successful that Dumat himself fled from a Warden offensive. While he was fleeing, some Ander soldiers ambushed him, and killed him.

But the dragon was reborn, and returned to the field soon enough, as powerful as ever. People despaired. _How can we kill an immortal God, _they cried_?_ But the Wardens did not despair. After much dangerous research, the Wardens' mages discovered that Dumat survived because, at the moment of death, his soul moved into the nearest darkspawn's body. From that body, the Archdemon could use his magic to regain his draconic form. But it was theorized that if a Warden struck the killing blow, and the Archdemon's soul attempted to invade a Warden's body, the resulting clash of souls would destroy both the Archdemon and the Warden.

So finally, at the Battle of the Silent Plains, the Wardens led a huge army against the darkspawn horde. In that battle, the Wardens sacrificed themselves to kill Dumat. The dragon fell, never to rise again.

That is why the Wardens are respected, and command so much admiration. Theirs is the ultimate sacrifice. They put aside everything – family, titles, riches – to fight the Blight. And when needed, they lay down their lives as well, for as the Wardens' motto goes: _In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice_.

I wanted to be a hero, doing good in the world; I wanted to fight the ultimate evil, the Blight itself; I wanted to be a Grey Warden.

Ha. Do you remember the old saying, Grand Inquisitor?

_When the Maker wants to punish us, He answers our prayers, and makes our dreams come true_.

-(=DAO=)-

How did I come to join the Grey Wardens? Come now, Grand Inquisitor, there is no need to be impatient. I was just getting to that part of the story.

So there I was, alone in my cell, imprisoned and awaiting the death sentence for the crime of consorting with demons to learn blood magic.

At Irving's insistence, I was given a day's reprieve. I knew Irving would try to convince Greagoir to spare my life, and I loved the old man for it. Still, it was unlikely that he would prevail upon the Knight-Commander to change my sentence, so I had to escape on my own.

It was easier said than done.

The Glyph of Neutralization in the cell dispelled all active magic effects, disrupted all spellcasting, and blocked all connection to the Fade.

The chains on my hand and feet, meanwhile, limited my movement and meant that I could not reach the Glyph, located on the opposite wall, to destroy it.

Bereft of my spells, and trussed up in iron chains like a noble with a sexual fetish, I was utterly powerless.

Powerless, but not witless.

I put my brain to work, thinking up any and all possible methods of escape.

I tried fiddling with my chains, and picking the lock on it. However, I had absolutely no skill at lockpicking, and found no success at getting myself out of the fetters.

I looked around the cell for pebbles and the like, with which to throw at the Glyph to – hopefully – scratch it, and disrupt its magic. Unfortunately, there no small, launchable objects about at all.

I also considered asking the templars for some water, so that I might try to jump on and strangle whoever came in, and get my key from them. But the more I thought about it, the stupider it seemed, for a mage untrained in physical combat to try and wrestle trained warriors.

Then an idea came to me, as brilliant as it was inane.

First, I considered the time, and estimated that it was about three hours since I first entered the Fade earlier in the evening.

Then, I dredged up all I could remember about the human digestive system and the rate and circumstances of liquid absorption in the stomach.

Lastly, I considered the Glyph, and considered the amount of damage that I would need to inflict upon it.

I felt excitement as I realized that it could very well work.

I stuffed my index finger into my mouth, and stimulated the palatal area around the uvula.

My gag reflect was triggered, and I vomited up, in heaving successions, the contents of my stomach.

It was disgusting, but I smiled, for in the mess of semi-fluid, half digested food that lined my cell floor, there were small traces of liquid lyrium, glowing a faint blue.

Steeling myself, and glad that I had nothing left to vomit up, I bent my face down towards the ground, and sucked up the bits and traces of lyrium.

Then, I stood up awkwardly, taking care not to trip over my chains or over my own feet.

I shuffled forward a few steps towards the door, and then spat.

Liquid lyrium and half-digested food hit the Glyph of Neutralization with a splattering sound.

I held my breath.

There was no visible change, but I knew that the lyrium had ruined the glyph, for I felt my power flow back into me.

I embraced it like an old lover, and used it to tear my chains apart.

It was time for the more glamorous part of my escape.

I looked at my cell once again, and all around there were smooth stone walls, with no window to speak of, and a thick steel door set into the stone itself.

But such a cell could not hold me, for I was a mage.

I gently touched the stone wall separating me from the hallway outside, whispered _shatter_, and the stone shattered, the wall crumbling upon itself and allowing me to step outside.

The templar Cullen, to his credit, reacted immediately by drawing his sword, and moving to attack me.

But swords could not harm me, for I had magic.

I gestured in Cullen's direction, and whispered _freeze_, and he froze, my _Winter's Grasp_ enveloping him with frost.

The other templar, slower on the uptake, was still fumbling with his shield when I turned my attention to him.

But shields could not stop me, for magic could not be stopped.

I motioned at the templar, and whispered _burn_, and he burnt, the _Flame Blast_ immolating him where he stood.

I strode forward towards the large, imposing wooden door that barred my way into the tower proper.

But no door remained closed to me, for magic opens all doors.

I pointed, and whispered _strike_, and the lighting stuck, roaring out from my fingertips and obliterating the door.

I walked out of the area in the tower's basement which the templars were using as a makeshift prison, feeling a quiet euphoria at my escape, and that was when I first met him.

He was just standing there, seemingly unconcerned for his safety, despite me having just blown a thick wooden door apart.

Dark-skinned, bearded, with serious eyes. He wore silver, burnished platemail, scratched and worn with long use and many battles. He held, with consummate ease, two weapons – a dagger and a sword, each in each hand.

I told him that he was not a templar, so I had no quarrel with him, and that there was no need for him to be harmed.

The man spoke, his voice deep and gravelly.

"How interesting. A maleficar with some semblance of a conscience.

"You must be Amell, the one caught entering the Fade to learn blood magic. The First-Enchanter spoke highly about your abilities."

I asked the man to stop wasting my time, and to get out of my way.

"You misunderstand me. Let me introduce myself. My name is Duncan. I am Warden-Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens.

"I came to the Circle Tower, not just to seek the help of the mages in fighting the darkspawn horde massing in the Korcari wilds, but also to recruit for my order.

"The First-Enchanter recommended _you_ as a potential recruit. I was just on my way to speak to you.

"So the question is, do you want to be a Grey Warden?"

For the second time that day, I was flummoxed. This came out of nowhere. Then I thought about Duncan's question – for all of one second, that is.

Really, it was no choice at all.

I said yes, of course. No other answer was conceivable.

Duncan spoke again, his eyes never leaving my own.

"And why do you want to be a Grey Warden?"

I told him the truth – that I wanted to help fight the darkspawn. I had known of the increased darkspawn attacks in the south, of course, but was never in a position to do anything to help. The Circle had allowed Uldred, Wynne and many of the senior mages to go to Ostagar to join the King's army, but mere apprentice mages like myself were allowed no such liberty.

After my answer, Duncan asked yet another question, his eyes again boring into mine.

"And why do you want to fight to darkspawn?"

In truth, this impromptu interview was starting to annoy me. I told Duncan that his question was a stupid one. If the darkspawn were not stopped, people would die.

He stared me, long and hard. He was likely was turning my profession of altruism over in his mind, and trying to discern whether I was being honest.

I stared back. Something in my eyes must have convinced him, for he nodded.

"Very well. I accept you as a Warden-Recruit. I will arrange matters with Knight-Commander Greagoir to release you into my custody. Tomorrow, we travel to Ostagar."

And that, Grand Inquisitor, is how I joined the Grey Wardens. It began with a prison break, and ended with freedom, albeit in an unexpected manner.

-(=DAO=)-

I almost regretted that decision over the next week, as Duncan and I headed for Ostagar.

After Duncan had settled all issues with Knight-Commander Greagoir – including the destruction of my phylactery – we travelled for seven long days down the Imperial Highway. From the Lake Calenhad Docks, we headed south and east, the great lake itself always to our right. We reached Lothering, a small town sitting at the crossroads of the Imperial Highway. And from there, we went dead south towards our final destination – Ostagar.

Being the physically inept mage that I was, and having never done anything more strenuous in my life than walk up and down stairs, all the walking that we did do to get to Ostagar was incredibly tiring and painful. At the very end of the first day, my legs were so stiff and hurt so much that I could barely stand. Walking for kilometers upon kilometers, day after day, taxed me physically as nothing else before ever did.

The other thing that made the journey even more unenjoyable was that we had to sleep out in the open. I, who had never slept in anything but warm, comfortable and _clean_ beds, was now compelled to sleep out in the wilderness. I had nothing but a thin bedroll to lie upon, and all about was dirt and insects. I did not enjoy that experience.

What made things even less bearable was Duncan's insistence that we train my combat skills at the end of each day. As you can imagine, I was tired, dirty and far removed from my comfort zone, such that the last thing I wanted was physical training.

Duncan insisted.

I argued, saying that I was a mage, capable of shooting lightning from my arse if needed. Things like combat training were far beneath me.

Duncan insisted.

In the end, I yielded to reason, and Duncan led me through basic military drills and tactics.

Duncan taught me about finding and using cover. After all, even if you were the greatest mage in the world, an arrow to the face would still kill you dead. Duncan showed me how to use things like trees, rock formations, and the lay of the land to shield myself from possible enemy fire. He pointed out the advantages and disadvantages of the various kinds of cover – for example, a tree is defensively solid, but also very obvious as cover. He highlighted the little things – such as aligning your body correctly behind a tree, or not raising your head too high when sheltering behind ridges – things that could make the difference between life and death. And obviously, he made me practice – repeatedly – diving to the ground and taking cover under imaginary enemy fire.

Duncan also ran me through target prioritization in combat. Laid down by King Calenhad centuries ago, it has since stood the test of time. The first target in combat is, and always will be: kill the enemy mage. The reason is pretty self-evident. Left unchecked, mages do enormous damage, with the more powerful ones capable of levelling whole armies. So, yes, kill the mage first, or be killed in turn. The second target to be prioritized is the enemy commander. Disrupt the opponent's chain of command and their effectiveness as a combat unit drops drastically. The third kind of target, and of the least importance, are the normal foot soldiers. Combat prioritization is about systematically eliminating the greatest threats to your side, so you can minimize casualties while maximizing the chances of success. Duncan made sure I understood basic target prioritization, before listing out things that distinguished the priority targets within a darkspawn army. Darkspawn emissaries – the mages – tended to make obvious targets, what with all their staff-waving and spell casting. However, darkspawn alphas – the commanders – made less obvious targets. They tended to be bigger than their compatriots, but this was not always so. Duncan suggested some more subtle clues that could identify the alphas – whichever darkspawn kept gesturing towards the others, or whichever darkspawn the others kept looking towards, would likely be the commander.

Duncan also ran me ragged doing what soldiers call fire-and-movement drills. Manoeuvring and mobility are essential parts of combat. You can get yourself into safer and more defensible positions, or you can flank the enemy and blindside them. But the big problem with trying to get from place to place during battle is that it means breaking cover, and leaving yourself open and vulnerable to enemy fire. So the basic principle in fire-and-movement, is that you move only short distances, from cover to cover, and only when your allies are laying down suppressive fire. This is another reason why mages are so important in battle – lose your mage, and you lose the most effective kind of covering fire available. This process, of suppressive fire paired with movement, allows combatants to move into advantageous positions, and slowly and surely win a battle. It is a very elegant tactic – in theory. In practice, it involved a lot of crawling and rolling through mud and dirt, which I most certainly did not enjoy.

But the thing Duncan stressed above all else is the importance of a combat team having defined roles. While all soldiers practiced fire-and-movement, it was only the Grey Wardens that used the role-system. In this system, you are assigned a role that you will stick to.

One role is that of the _shield_. The person assigned this role is meant to stay on the frontlines, drawing attacks and keeping his team safe. The shield has to be tough and durable, and thus will often be a heavily armoured warrior.

This is so that other roles, like the _spear_, can do their job. The spear is meant to stay behind his team and to keep a distance from the enemy. Only then can the spear perform his role of harassing and harming the enemy at range.

There is also the _support_. The person designated as the support is the sacrificial lamb. He or she gets to do all the risky but necessary combat undertakings – like scouting out ahead, or flanking the enemy when cover fire if not available.

Then there is the _carry_. The role derives its name from the fact that the carry often has to – figuratively – carry his team to victory. The carry tends either to be the commander – who makes the decisions and directs his team – or a mage – who is naturally capable of inhuman feats.

The Wardens started using the role-system because it is efficient. Even when an unanticipated battle starts, everyone knows what to do – you can never be caught with your proverbial pants down. The system also allows for better decision making. The role-system clarifies the importance of certain individuals – like the team's mage – by designating them as _carry_, and directs all other members of the team to protect that one, essential individual. Of course, the role-system also reminds the carry that his safety and continued existence on the field of battle is more important than things like glory or even the life of an ally. A _support_ may sacrifice himself to save the _carry_; but not the other way around.

All this, and much of my knowledge of the darkspawn, I learnt from Duncan, as we travelled towards Ostagar.

Every night I went to sleep tired, muddy and irritated, but I was learning how to be a Grey Warden – and that fact alone made up for everything.

-(=DAO=)-

We reached Ostagar on the morning of the eighth day, and to our surprise, were greeted at the gates of Ostagar by King Cailan.

Cailan himself was a great disappointment.

He spoke of battle as it were glorious – as if battle did not involve pain and injury and death. He talked dismissively Arl Eamon's reinforcements from Redcliff, saying that Eamon was only out to steal his glory. He said he hoped for a war like in the tales, wherein the king would ride out with the fabled Grey Wardens to confront a tainted God.

What a fool. Being a Grey Warden and fighting the blight were about saving lives, not about honour and glory. It disturbed me greatly, when I realized that the King of Ferelden did not understand this basic fact.

But while the King was disappointing, Ostagar was not. It was everything I had dreamed of.

Duncan gave me the freedom to explore the place, as he attended to Grey Warden business.

For the first time in my life, I had the freedom to wander about as I pleased, do as I pleased, to meet people as I pleased.

It was really interesting, just walking about, and talking to everyone I met, whether soldier or priest or merchant. I must say, it was really fun talking to the priests. They get so heated, when you try to argue theology with them, and expose their ignorance. The younger Mothers were particularly nice to tease – they fluster really easily.

But I also had more serious conversations.

It was there at Ostagar where I first met him, you know.

Loghain.

I was exploring Ostagar, and came across his tent. After speaking to the Teyrn's guard, I managed to persuade the man to let me meet the Teyrn himself.

Loghain came out of his tent, wearing his famous Armour of the River Dane.

He looked tired. He was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. When he spoke, he sounded tired too, though even then you could hear the steel in his voice.

He wasn't larger than life, and honestly, he seemed no different from any normal man.

But perhaps that was why Ferelden admired him so much. Loghain helped secure Ferelden's independence, and he did so with courage and cunning and hard work, nothing more. Loghain showed that ordinary people were capable of extraordinary things.

I admired him, you know. Respected him. He was a hero to me.

Before Ostagar.

But that tale will come later.

When I met Loghain, the man's first words to me were characteristically brusque.

"Yes, what is it? Ah, you're Duncan's new Grey Warden, I assume."

I confirmed that I was.

"Cailan's fascination with the Wardens goes beyond the ordinary. Are you aware his father brought your order back to Ferelden?"

I did, actually. I knew my history, especially on topics as important to me as the Grey Wardens. Loghain elaborated, nonetheless.

"Maric respected the Grey Wardens. They have an honoured place in the hearts of our people.

"But Maric would have understood that it takes more than legends to win a battle. But that's not an argument I'll repeat here."

I was actually quite relieved to here him say that. After Cailan and his worrying lack of contact with reality, it was good to know that the Teyrn was a sensible man. I would have asked Loghain more about the battle, but he changed topics quite abruptly.

"I hear you're from the Circle of Magi. The First Enchanter spoke highly of you – a great achievement, for one so young.

"I don't suppose you'll be riding into the thick of battle with the rest of your fellows, will you?"

It was interesting to learn that the First Enchanter corresponded with Loghain. I also noted that Loghain didn't mention my status as a maleficar – then again, Irving would not mention such things casually, to the detriment of the Circle's reputation and to myself.

Regardless, I indicated to Loghain that I had no idea whether I would be going into battle.

"If Cailan has his way, you will.

"Now I must return to my task. Pray that our king proves amenable to wisdom, if you're the praying sort."

I wished him luck.

After wandering about for a bit more, I found the Circle's encampment.

Its entrance was guarded by two templars, and beyond them, I could see three mages in a circle, practicing a combination _Blizzard_ spell.

I tried to enter, but the templars stopped me. One said,

"The mages must not be interrupted. Their spirits are in the Fade."

I frowned at the templar who spoke, and then looked at the mages again.

They were definitely not in the Fade – they were all awake, standing upright, and their hands were going through the motions of _Blizzard_. They had probably lied to the templars, to prevent anyone from intruding and distracting them during spell practice. And perhaps they found exploiting the ignorance of the templars amusing.

I certainly would have.

As it was, I did not feel like interrupting their practice – since it seemed so important to them – nor did I want to explain to the templars the joke pulled on their ignorant selves. So, I went around the side of the encampment, looking for another way in.

While looking, I met Senior Enchanter Wynne. She was, predictably, not happy to see me.

"Amell. So it is you. The Grey Wardens' new recruit, a maleficar from the Circle.

"Irving was so proud of your talent. And yet you throw it all away, doing something so foolish and irreponsible as bargaining with demons! The Fade is a dangerous place."

She gave me that disapproving, grandmotherly look that she was so good at.

I told her that I had bested the strongest demon in the Fade, and that the realm of dreams held no terror for me.

"And yet the Templars caught you, red-handed. You would have been executed, you know."

I told her that, seeing as I had broken out of the cell under my own power, I could easily have destroyed my phylactery and escaped the Tower.

"You do know that the phylacteries are secured in a room whose door is immune to magic, don't you? Even for one so talented as yourself, it would not have been possible to breach that room."

I told her that everything was possible, given that I had blood magic. I pointed out that I could have controlled Knight-Commander Greagoir, and obtained his key.

And that was the end of our conversation. Wynne fell silent, her face tight with anger and disgust. And since I had no desire to continue arguing with her, I took my leave.

As requested of me by Duncan, I went in search of the other Grey Warden recruits who would be participating in the Joining, to bring them back to the Wardens' tent before noon. At that point, I had no idea of what the ritual actually was, or of its significance.

The first of the other potential Wardens that I found was Daveth, a criminal and a rogue whom Duncan had rescued from a hanging in Denerim. He told me that he had overheard some other Wardens talking about the Joining, and it seemed that we would have to go into the Korcari wilds. I told him that Duncan wanted him back at the Warden tent, and he obliged.

The other potential Warden was Ser Jory, a Redcliff knight once under the service of Arl Eamon. When I identified myself as a mage, he started stuttering in fear and trepidation – apparently he had a phobia of magic, and had always found it unnerving. He seemed only too happy for an excuse to run away from me, when I told him about Duncan's request that he report back to the Warden tent.

And finally, I went looking for Alistair.

-(=DAO=)-

I've had many companions on my quest to quell the blight.

The Warden Templar. The Witch of the Wilds. The Lost Bard. The Fallen Champion.

But let us talk about the Warden Templar, for it was him I met first.

Alistair is kind, loyal and brave. He is everything you want, as a friend and companion-in-arms. He was – is – like a brother to me.

He and I are similar, in our commitment to the Grey Wardens. We made a sacred vow to stop the darkspawn threat, and we both take this vow very seriously. Alistair has a good heart, and always looks to protect those who cannot protect themselves, and for that I admire him greatly.

But we are also very different, in that he does not share my ruthlessness. He does not agree with me, that committing injustice is justified in the pursuit of the greater good. This divide between us proved deep – deeper than I anticipated.

I first met Alistair at Ostagar, when he was getting told off by Senior Enchanter Samuel. Apparently, Alistair was delivering a message from the revered mother, and of course neither the mages nor the Chantry enjoyed working with each other. Alistair, as the messenger, had the honour being harangued by both sides.

As I approached, and as Senior Enchanter Samuel stalked off, Alistair turned to me and quipped,

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

I shrugged, and pointed out that the mages and the Chantry had never gotten along, and for good reason.

"I suppose you're a mage yourself?"

I told him that I was, and that I was the new recruit to the Wardens.

"Glad to meet you.

"As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining."

I had grown curious about the secretive ritual, so I asked Alistair if he could tell me more about it.

"Honestly, nothing! Try not to, er, worry about it. It will... just distract you."

His evasive answer, and the awkward way he delivered it, only made me more suspicious about the whole ritual.

"So, I'm curious: Have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?"

At that point, I had not.

"When I fought my first one, I wasn't prepared for how monstrous it was. I can't say I'm looking forward to encountering another.

"Anyhow, whenever you're ready let's head back to Duncan. I imagine he's eager to get things started."

We spoke more on our way back to the Warden tent, and I learnt, among other things, that Alistair had trained as a templar. I admit that learning of that piece of Alistair's history didn't endear him to me, and it made me act colder towards him than I would otherwise have. We weren't bosum buddies right away.

-(=DAO=)-

We gathered at the Warden tent, and Duncan gave us our instructions.

"You four will be heading into the Korcari wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit."

I asked the question that we recruits were thinking: what did we need darkspawn blood for?

"For the Joining itself. I'll explain more once you've returned."

I pointed out that the Wardens could surely have acquired some blood before now, and that there seemed to be more to the task than met the eye.

"Of course. You must work together to collect the components, however. It's as much a part of the Joining as what comes after."

I thought that was reasonable enough: a test of our teamwork as potential wardens. I asked about the second task.

"There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts.

"It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them. Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can."

My interest piqued, I asked what the scrolls were.

"Old treaties, if you're curious. Promises of support made to the Grey Wardens long ago.

"They were once considered only formalities. With so many having forgotten their commitments to us, I suspect it may be a good idea to have something to remind them with."

It enquired about how we would find their archive, out there in the wide expanse of the wilderness.

"It will be an overgrown ruin by now, but the sealed chest should remain intact. Alistair will guide you to the area you need to search."

And so we four set out, to find the archive and three vials of darkspawn blood.

-(=DAO=)-

We headed out of Ostgar, and into the Koracri wilds.

We adopted the role-system. Alistair was pleasantly surprised when I suggested it, and after some explanation, Daveth and Ser Jory agreed to it was well.

Alistair, as the most heavily armoured amongst us, and as the one with the most experience with darkspawn – the rest of us had none – he would take point as the shield.

Daveth, our best archer, would hang back and act as the spear.

Ser Jory, greatsword in hand, would support Alistair.

And I would carry.

We headed straight for the archive to retrieve the treaties, because we were likely to encounter darkspawn on the way there anyway, affording us the chance to obtain their blood.

Not a hundred meters from the southern gates of Ostagar, we were attacked by blight wolves.

We were in a shallow but narrow valley between two hills. The wolves poured in from the southern end of the valley, howling for blood.

Alistair, who was furthest in front, dropped into a combat stance, his sword and shield raised. Ser Jory hefted his greatsword, while Daveth strung his bow.

But it wasn't necessary, given my magic and given the fact that the wolves were charging down the valley, in a straight line.

I stepped out in front of my team, and directed a _Cone of Cold_ down the gorge, halting the blight wolves in their tracks. The _Cone of Cold_ is one of the most effective combat spells a mage can wield. You blast out cold air, and the cold air freezes whatever creature is unfortunate enough to be caught within the conical radius of the spell. And by cold here, I mean the absolute lower limit of the thermodynamic temperature scale.

The wolves were frozen, but I made sure they were dead by launching a _Fireball_ into their midst. The _Fireball_ is another highly effective combat spell. The name is pretty self-explanatory: you throw out a very hot, highly dense ball of burning gas, which then explodes and incinerates everything in a circle around it. The _Fireball_ is the sun writ small – capable of burning hot enough to melt steel.

And so the blight wolves died, falling easily to my magic and to the strategic position afforded to us by the valley. Ser Jory looked incredibly disconcerted at the sight of magic, but didn't say anything. Knowing him, he was probably afraid that I would turn him into a frog or something if he complained.

But no one complained, because I won us the fight easily, without anyone of us getting hurt.

We continued into the wilds, passing a small lake, before coming across an open clearing.

It was devastation.

Everywhere, there were dead soldiers lying on the ground. Broken carts were lying on their sides, with one cart seemingly torn in half. There was also an ox, presumably a draft animal – it was bloody, its stomach torn open and its guts spilled all over the forest floor.

We heard a shout for help, and miraculously, there was a soldier still alive. He was crawling on the ground, obviously wounded, but through pained gasps, told us that his scouting company was ambushed by darkspawn coming up out of the ground.

Daveth asked if I could use my magic to heal him, but I could not. Healing had never interested me as a subject in the Circle – another point of contention between myself and Wynne. Right then, seeing the wounded soldier, I really wished I had spent more time mastering the healing magics, and less time calling Wynne a glorified poultice.

Alistair bandaged the man up as best as he could, and we offered to bring him back to Ostagar, but the soldier declined, saying that he could find his way back on his own.

The news of darkspawn tunnelling underground, and being capable of ambushing anyone, anywhere, was disturbing. Ser Jory, in particular, did not take to the news well. I told Ser Jory to calm down, reminding him that I had magic at my command, while Alistair too tried to reassure the man, saying that Grey Wardens were capable of sensing the darkspawn, thus nullifying any possible ambushes. Despite my questions, Alistair refused to tell me how he could do such a thing, again telling me to wait till the Joining.

We pushed south, and entered an area full of old ruins. As we reached the southern part of the ruins, Alistair warned us that he could sense darkspawn ahead. And indeed, after heading south for a while more, we could make out, on a hill beyond the southern entrance of the ruins, a group of darkspawn.

We kept low, crawling through the grass towards the darkspawn's position, before taking cover behind some ruined walls. I gauged the distance of the hill from us, and its elevation, and then from behind cover, I summoned and launched a series of _Fireballs_ at the darkspawn. My attacks were true, and the hill exploded into a raging inferno.

I thought the battle was over before it had even begun, but I had underestimated the tenacity and toughness of the darkspawn.

Out of the flames came a hurlock, literally on fire, but it still rushed at us in a final, desperate, quixotic attack. It was the first time I had seen a darkspawn up close. It was monstrous, fearsome and ugly as incest.

Without breaking cover, I used a _Cone of Cold_ to immobilize it, leaving Alistair to step forward and finish the creature. He swung his sword in a wide arc, putting his weight behind the stroke, and with a perfect strike took the head right off creature's body.

I extinguished the fires that were still burning, and we made for the hill. We approached it carefully, despite Alistair's reassurance that he could no longer feel the darkspawn's presence and that they were no longer alive.

Thankfully, no nasty ambush was sprung upon us, as we climbed the hill to get to the darkspawn bodies.

One unfortunate side effect of my heavy use of fire spells, though, was that many of the bodies were burnt to ashes, and there weren't a lot of usable darkspawn bodies from which we could get blood.

Alistair bent down next to a body that was, still, largely recognizable as a body. He took a knife out and got to work, slitting the darkspawn's throat and storing the blood that flowed out into three separate vials.

So that was the first part of our mission complete.

We headed further south, and then south-east.

We passed the gruesome sight of some soldiers being hung by their necks from some ruined arches.

Past that, there was a wooden bridge, which we had to cross to get to other side of the river.

As Alistair had warned us, there were darkspawn at and beyond the bridge.

I wondered if the darkspawn were not more cunning and intelligent than we gave them credit for. After all, they had conducted a successful ambush on that group of soldiers we saw lying dead in the clearing. The darkspawn also seemed to congregate at strategically very defensible choke points – first, at the southern end of those ruins, and now, at this bridge. It would be easy for them to repel and stop any attack upon the bridge.

From the tree I was sheltering behind, I squinted at the lone darkspawn standing on the bridge. Tall, and holding what seemed to be a staff, it looked very much like an emissary. Wanting to take no chances, I fired off a _Mana Clash_, and was gratified to see the emissary on the bridge topple, falling to the side and into the river.

In quick succession, I conjured and hurled _Fireballs_ at the darkspawn beyond the bridge. I was careful not to destroy the bridge itself, for otherwise we would have to wade across – and I did not want to get myself waist deep in muddy water.

I thought that was the end of it, but it wasn't. This was not the first time that day that I underestimated the darkspawn, and it wouldn't be the last. Three more darkspawn leapt out from the tall grass in front of the tree I was taking cover behind, and rushed at me. How I had failed to notice them, I do not know, but I was taken off guard.

I managed to use a _Cone of Cold_, but it was hastily cast, and badly aimed. It only caught one of the darkspawn – the one charging at me head on – while the other two to the sides had closed in on me.

I stumbled back, and then Alistair was there. Shield down, he barrelled into the darkspawn to my left, shoving the creature backwards. While it was off-guard and off-balance, Alistair attacked, his sword flashing once, twice, thrice. The darkspawn was caught with a heavy diagonal slash across its chest, and then with a follow-up backhanded cut onto its shoulder, and finally Alistair split its head upon with a hammer-blow to its skull.

The one to my right was almost right on top of me, ready to inflict upon me a most fatal case of dagger-to-the-throat. I was trying to a cast a spell, but I was too slow. Thankfully for me, Daveth was on point. With a smart, well-placed and well-timed shot, an arrow sprouted from the darkspawn's forehead, and it collapsed to the ground.

My heart was pounding in my chest at the close call. It makes you feel more alive, somehow – this sort of brush with death. I'm not saying it made me feel excited, as I understand is the case with those who lust after battle – what I mean to say is that you're suddenly aware that you're a sack of meat, so very vulnerable, so easily killable, so unexceptionally mortal.

But we had our victory, regardless. Again, Alistair judged that the darkspawn were all dead, so we used the rickety old bridge to cross the river. It turned out that this bridge used to be held by human soldiers – but the darkspawn had killed them all, and their bodies were still scattered about the place. This time, there were no survivors to be found.

We pressed east, north, then east again. Soon enough, Alistair directed us to head north once more; he indicated that we were near the location of the archive.

However, we came across another yet another group of darkspawn, this one far larger than the previous two we fought – they were about the size of a whole company of men. They barred the way to the archive, and there didn't seem to be any way through without a fight.

We were atop a hill, and I was taking cover behind a mossy tree log. For the umpteenth time that day, I materialized and launched dozens of Fireballs into the enemy.

The fire engulfed the darkspawn, but with a group that big, some escaping stragglers were inevitable.

Numbering perhaps a dozen or so, the darkspawn stragglers charged our way, doubtlessly having noticed the direction from which the _Fireballs_ came. A _Cone of Cold_ incapacitated perhaps half the group, while Alistair broke cover, rushing out to meet them.

I had never known, before this, that the shield could be used with such skill and finesse. Watching Alistair fight, however, washed away my ignorance. He held the shield up, always keeping it between him and the enemy. He shifted from defence to attack fluidly, lashing out in controlled strikes that always sent his target reeling back. Meanwhile, no attack got through his defences, his shield weaving up and down, left and right, always catching or turning away the blows sent his way, even at the last moment. The darkspawn tried to flank him, but Alistair was one step ahead, his awareness of the battlefield and clever movement always making sure that the darkspawn could never attack from his sides. His mastery of the shield was such that, when a darkspawn stepped in close and tried to deal a heavy blow, Alistair somehow managed to catch the creature's sword on the edge of his shield, and with a twist, disarmed him.

All this bought the rest of us time and space to engage the darkspawn effectively. Daveth, from behind us, fired off arrow after arrow. Not one missed, and for every one that hit, it was yet another darkspawn dead.

Ser Jory, too, was impressive. His greatsword cleaved through the darkspawn, none of his powerful blows leaving him overextended and vulnerable, with one attack always transitioning smoothly into the another.

The battle was soon won, the darkspawn stragglers slaughtered.

After Alistair announced that he believed all the darkspawn to be dead, I smothered the fire, and we made for the ruins of the old Warden outpost.

We searched the ruins, high and low.

It took some time, but before long I came across a broken, empty chest. Inside, I found a Glyph of Warding – its effect long faded away, the lyrium powering it used up.

Given how well protected the chest used to be, it may as well have once contained the precious Grey Warden treaties that we were looking for; but now there was nothing in the chest but dust and spiderwebs.

I called the others over, to show them my discovery.

That was when I saw her.

Beautiful, more so than anyone else I had ever met, before or since. She was slender and supple, moving with an easy grace. Her hair was dark, in contrast to her skin, which was pale and flawless.

I didn't notice all that at first, because I was too busy staring at her chest. Forgive me; I was a young man, used to being around female mages and Chantry sisters who wore full bodied robes. Her clothing, on the other hand, was barely clothing, revealing more than it hid.

But you would be a fool to think of her as but a pretty face. You needed only to look into her eyes, yellow and sharp and piercing like a hawk's, to remind yourself of that. The staff she was carrying on her back also marked her as a mage, and clearly an apostate at that, and thus dangerous beyond measure.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

She walked down the slope connecting the ruins' first and second floors, as regal as a queen. Her voice was high and sultry, but in a disquietingly menacing way. Not once did her unnerving eyes leave mine.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?

"What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?"

She came to stand in front of me, her eyes continuing to bore into mine. Absurdly, I felt compelled to continue matching her stare, as if I would be less a man if I looked away. In response to her question, I answered that we were neither scavengers nor intruders, but Grey Wardens, and that the Wardens once owned this tower.

"Tis a tower no longer. The Wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse.

"I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go,' I wondered, 'why are they here?'

"And now, you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

Alistair interjected at this point,

"Don't answer her. She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

She answered mockingly.

"Oooh! You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you."

She raised her hands, dramatically, as if in emphasis. Alistair, looking disconcerted, muttered,

"Yes... swooping is bad."

Alistair was not the only one unsettled by her appearance. Daveth too, expressed his discomfort,

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is. She'll turn us into toads!"

Again, her answer was sharp and mocking.

"Witch of the Wilds? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?

"You there, handsome lad, tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be civilized."

Her eyes focused back onto mine.

I introduced myself, and in return, I learnt her name.

"And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish.

"Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?"

Alistair didn't take kindly to Morrigan's words.

"'Here no longer?' You stole them, didn't you? You're... some kind of... sneaky... witch-thief!"

"How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."

"I will not, for twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened."

It was actually pretty amusing, watching Morrigan and Alistair trade barbs, but we needed those documents, so I asked Morrigan if she did know who removed them.

"Twas my mother, in fact."

I asked, politely, for Morrigan to bring us to her mother.

"There is a sensible request. I like you."

"I'd be careful. First it's" – and here, Alistair adopted a falsetto – "'I like you...' but then Zap! Frog time."

I did not worry as the others did, for I was a mage. I knew that people could not be turned into frogs. More than that, I did not believe some Chasind witch doctors could pose a threat to a trained mage of the Circle Tower, let alone one as gifted as myself.

Of course, I didn't know who Morrigan's mother was, then.

Morrigan, quick and sure, led us through the forest, and it did not take long for us to reach a small hut.

Outside the hut, Morrigan introduced us to her mother.

"Greetings, Mother. I bring before you four Grey Wardens who –"

"I see them, girl. Mmm. Much as I expected."

While Morrigan's voice was high, her mother's voice was sharp. It was the voice of a woman of many years, who had seen much and known much.

Alistair, on the other hand, thought little of the old woman before us.

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?"

You could hear the disdain dripping of the old woman's tongue, as she said,

"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide... either way, one's a fool!"

Daveth, meanwhile, again expressed his fear about witches and the like.

"She's a witch, I tell you! We shouldn't be talking to her!"

Jory silenced the rogue.

"Quiet, Daveth! If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?"

The old woman snorted, in what could have been approval.

"There is a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will."

She turned to me.

"And what of you, bloody one? Do you possess a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as the others do?"

Ignoring her non-sequitur of a nickname for me, I said that I believed that she had something we needed. As Morrigan interjected bluntly,

"They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother."

"True, they came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these."

Alistair was comically taken aback at this.

"You... oh. You protected them?"

"And why not? Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize!"

As I received the treaties – I checked them over to be sure, and ascertained that they were what they were supposed to be – I asked the old woman for clarification. What did she mean, that the Blight's threat was greater than the Wardens realized? How could anyone underestimate the Blight?

"Either the threat is more or they realize less. Or perhaps the threat is nothing! Or perhaps they realize nothing!"

The old woman laughed.

"Oh, do not mind me. You have what you came for!"

Morrigan made as if to shoo us off.

"Time for you to go, then."

Strangely enough, Morrigan's mother chided her.

"Do not be ridiculous, girl. These are your guests."

"Oh, very well. I will show you out of the woods. Follow me."

Looking back, I think I do believe the stories told about her. I think I do believe that she could see the future. She hinted at Ser Jory's death. She hinted at the massacre at Ostagar. She hinted at, I think, the cataclysm of Denerim. She saw many things.

Would that I had the same power.

-(=DAO=)-

Morrigan led us back to Ostagar, and there the Joining commenced.

We recruits assembled at the old temple, and Duncan spoke to us, his voice formal.

"At last we come to the Joining.

"The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood, and mastered their taint."

Ser Jory expressed the trepidation that we all felt.

"We're going to drink the blood of those... those creatures?"

Duncan replied,

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power, and our victory."

Alistair elaborated.

"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it, in the darkspawn, and use it to slay the Archdemon."

I asked if this were truly necessary.

Duncan looked me in the eyes, and said,

"Yes. Believe me, it is."

Duncan turned to Alistair.

"We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?"

Alistair looked down, his face solemn, and recited,

"_Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you._"

Duncan handed me a large goblet, full of a dark liquid, and said softly,

"You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint, for the greater good."

I thought of what being a Grey Warden meant; I thought of the darkspawn out there in the Korcari wilds; I thought of all the lives that could be saved.

It was no choice at all.

I drank.

Whispers filled my mind, overwhelming and insistent.

I saw a great dragon, dark and howling and fearsome.

Then I saw no more, as I slipped into unconsciousness.

-(=DAO=)-

I survived, of course.

Daveth and Ser Jory did not, however.

That was the sacrifice we Grey Wardens made.

But there was no time to mourn or reflect on their deaths, for there was a battle coming.

The darkspawn horde had gathered a short distance from Ostagar, and an attack was imminent.

The king was holding a war council, and surprisingly enough I was invited to it.

The council was not going well. Cailan and Loghain were already arguing heatedly before Duncan and I arrived. They argued about everything – whether Cailan should be on the front lines, whether we needed the Orlesian forces, whether the Grey Wardens could be relied upon. All it all, it was not an encouraging sign for the battle ahead.

Cailan ran us through the strategy Loghain had devised. The strategy was simple, as the best strategies tended to be. Cailan, the Grey Wardens, and a small force of men would take a stand in the valley over which Ostagar was built. The valley was narrow, and highly defensible, such that any enemy assault upon it would suffer massive casualties, and be repelled easily enough. Cailan's forces would thus attempt to draw the darkspawn forces into the valley, where their greater numbers would not matter. Meanwhile, Loghain and the main bulk of our forces would be waiting to the east of the valley. Once the darkspawn were committed to engaging Cailan's forces, their rear would be open and vulnerable. Loghain would flank them, and the darkspawn would be destroyed, caught between the hammer and the anvil. It was a sound strategy, and it all turned upon the Tower of Ishal – the beacon would have to be lit, as a signal to Loghain's forces to charge.

It was an essential task, and Cailan wanted us Grey Wardens to do the deed. Alistair and I were to wait atop Ishal, lighting the beacon fifteen minutes after the start of battle, or when Duncan gave the signal, whichever came first. With the lighting of the beacon, and victory should be ours.

One could complain, as Alistair did later on, that we Grey Wardens were wasted on this task. It was a fair complaint, for Loghain's men in the tower could easily light the beacon themselves. I didn't mind being set this task, though, for with my magic I could devastate the darkspawn from atop the tower, as easily as I could on the ground below – easier, in fact, because of the high vantage point.

I was overconfident. We all were. We underestimated the darkspawn, and many people would die that night because of it.

-(=DAO=)-

The darkspawn horde descended upon Ostagar.

When it started, Alistair and I were still on the bridge that spanned the two sides of Ostagar. I was enchanting, with frost and flame, the missiles of the ballistae the soldiers upon the bridge were using. Then the attack came, the darkspawn pouring out of the woods like the ocean in storm.

Moved into action, we two raced across the bridge, to get to the eastern side of the valley. Even then, at the very beginning of the battle, I realized that something was terribly wrong. Cailan's forces had over-extended themselves, and had pushed too far out of the valley. They were already being overrun, and though we were on the bridge high above them, we could visibly see the darkspawn forces cutting a swath through the defenders.

That was our first mistake, in underestimating the strength and brutality and viciousness of the darkspawn.

As the battle raged below us, and as a thunderstorm raged above, Alistair and I hurried for the Tower of Ishal. Some distance from the tower, we met a soldier and a tower guard, and they broke to us the disastrous news. The darkspawn had tunnelled up from under the tower, slain most of the guards, and taken the tower itself.

That was our second mistake, in underestimating the cunning and wiles of the darkspawn.

There was nothing to be done, but fight our way through the enemy to get to the top of Ishal, and light the beacon ourselves.

Together with the soldier and guard, we headed into the tower's courtyard, where there were darkspawn overwhelming the last of the towers' guards.

The monsters, finished with slaughtering the guards, turned towards us. Their faces were twisted caricatures of people's, and you could see that these were creatures whose purpose and pastime was killing.

They rushed at us, but a single _Cone of Cold_ froze them. When the darkspawn were fighting the towers guards, they had congregated into a small area between a wall and some scaffolding, setting themselves up to be easily caught by a single spell. The follow-up _Fireball_ that I casted was effective at immolating the darkspawn, for the same reason.

We continued through the courtyard and ever more darkspawn, but with the elements at my command, we cut through them as easily as a honed sword through air.

We reached the large double-doors of the tower. I prepared another _Fireball_, and immediately as Alistair and the soldier shoved the door open, I hurled it in. The _Fireball_ exploded, and our team rushed into the tower.

The darkspawn had set up in the main chamber, and had set up a good defensive position, with a flaming barricade as protection, and archers situated behind. My _Fireball_ had destroyed a good part of the room, and killed quite a number of darkspawn, but there were still some remaining. I readied my magic again, while Alistair and the soldier rushed in, with the tower guard taking up position behind me, already notching his bow and taking aim at a target.

It was then I realized that one of the darkspawn, thrown onto the floor by the explosion of my _Fireball_, was not in fact dead. He had lost his left arm, but was using his right to prop himself up. Then, most disturbingly, a severed arm from one of the piles of human corpses flew up and at the one-armed darkspawn, attaching itself to the darkspawn's left shoulder. Black sparks danced across the limb, and the creature clenched his left fist.

I had not noticed earlier on, though I should have. This was a genlock emissary, and my first _Fireball_ had not killed, only badly injured him. And apparently, healing an injury as severe as a lost limb was not beyond the death magic of the darkspawn emissaries.

I was in the midst of forming another _Fireball_, but having identified an emissary, I let the magic dissipate, so as to prepare a _Mana Clash_ instead.

The emissary himself was not idle, for he was preparing magic of his own. A globe of liquid, as clear and colourless as water, was forming between his palms.

It took me a few seconds, but the realization of what that globe of liquid was finally hit me. I am not ashamed to say, I almost shit myself at the realization.

It was _Invisible Death_. King of Poisons, with none deadlier. Its name was as apt as it was unimaginative. As a liquid, it was clear and colourless as water, but anyone who breathed even a whiff of it as a gas, would find his lungs failing him. Unable to breathe, the victim would perish within minutes. A most potent poison, and this emissary was about to disperse the globe into a cloud of death.

I did the only thing I could, snapping out my right hand and blasting a _Cone of Cold_ over the emissary and his ball of poison. I maintained the spell for many seconds, to make sure, beyond all doubt, that the poison was well and truly frozen. After ensuring that the emissary was frozen solid, I cast a targeted _Mana Clash_ to kill off the emissary, while making sure that the poison was not disturbed.

I turned my attention back to the room at large, but my help was no longer needed. Alistair and the rest had killed the remaining darkspawn while I was busy with the emissary.

We had precious little time to spare to permanently dispose of the poison, and I had neither the expertise nor knowledge to do so anyway. Thus I came up with the interim solution of freezing the emissary and the globe into a giant of cube of ice. I then carved into the ice, with some lyrium I had, a rune of frost, to ensure that it didn't melt prematurely. This whole process took almost five minutes, which was five minutes we did not have.

After the task was complete, we dashed out of the chamber, mindful of the fact that time was of the essence.

We went through some rooms, and more darkspawn fell under our onslaught. There was a large hole in one of the rooms we passed. That was, most likely, where the darkspawn had emerged out of the ground, and though it would have been enlightening to stop and inspect it, we could not spare the time to do so.

We reached a flight of stairs, and took it, two or three steps a time, up to the second floor of the tower. It was tiring, especially for me, but I pushed myself.

Through the tower we ran, never stopping. The darkspawn emerged from adjacent corridors in attempted ambushes, but we were always ready. It is hard to describe, but the taint allows us to detect, not just the presence of darkspawn, but also their intentions, such that we were always forewarned and forearmed of danger. All the darkspawns' ambushes were turned against them, and they were slaughtered.

This is not to say that we were never in any danger. Despite our advantages as Grey Wardens, and despite my advantages as a mage, the very first darkspawn ambush came close to succeeding.

We were exiting the second floor's main chamber, and had sensed that an ambush was coming, and were prepared for it.

When a door to our right burst open, we sprang into action immediately. A _Cone of Cold_ froze the two hurlocks that were just about to attack us, while my teammates moved forward to finish them off.

So when a door directly behind us clattered open, it caught us by surprise.

I barely managed to dodge out of the way, as the genlock's dagger almost sliced my neck open.

I stumbled back, as did the tower guard, who was armed with a bow and in no condition to fight in close quarters.

I used a _Cone of Cold_, managing to immobilize one genlock. In the narrow, enclosed corridors of the tower, I was unable to use my spells to their full strength, for fear of harming my team. Thus, the other genlock slipped past the radius of my spell, and almost stuffed a dagger into my face, save for Alistair. His sword swing took the genlock's arm off, and another swing took the creature's head off.

I gave my thanks to him, and we resolved to be cautious even as we made haste through the tower.

We fought and killed more darkspawn after that, before coming to another flight of stairs, which allowed us to climb up to the third floor. By this time, I was already breathing heavily, and tired of all that climbing.

We went through alcoves and rooms and corridors, and fought a never ending stream of darkspawn. They seemed innumerable, and endless. No matter how many we killed, there were always more around the corner, or in the next room. In one particular case, we were at the main chamber of the third floor, and darkspawn were pouring out of this alcove that we had to get through. There were so many of the creatures that they were literally falling over each other trying to get to us through the narrow archway. They made an easy target for a _Cone of Cold_, and for the follow-up _Fireball_, but even so, getting through that much darkspawn was not easy, nor quick.

Still, we soldiered on, and finally reached the third flight of stairs. We climbed, despite my legs lodging their vocal protest, up to the beacon chamber of the Tower of Ishal. Then there it was –

_Ogre_.

It was enormous, more than twice as tall as a human, four times as broad, and so muscle-bound it was perverse. People often say, of someone who has great strength, that he can "tear you apart". You could say the same for an ogre, except there it wouldn't be hyperbole, for this creature really was strong enough to tear you limb from limb. Its footsteps, literally, caused the ground to shake. And when it opened its great maw, and roared, you felt some animalistic terror grip you.

We faltered. Can you blame us? We were facing a monstrous thing, and whole companies of men have fled rather than fight this mighty juggernaut.

The ogre took a few steps forward, and then bent down to its right to pick up a slab of stone, bigger than me. The ogre shifted his weight, as if in preparation for a throw.

I tried to stop him. I snapped out a _Cone of Cold_, in an attempt to freeze the ogre before he could fling the massive stone at us.

But the ogre was too far away, my spell too weak from its hasty casting. The freezing cold covered the ogre, but it seemed not to bother him in the least. He grunted, and hurled the stone at us.

At least the spell seemed to have thrown off his aim, as the giant stone was launched into the wall to our left, the resounding crash echoing through the beacon chamber like thunder.

The ogre did not let up, charging at us with its head down and shoulders up, like a monstrous battering ram.

Again, I tried to stop it with a _Cone of Cold_, and again, with too little preparation time and with a creature so huge, the spell failed to incapacitate its target.

Still, it did seem to annoy the creature, for in response to the spell the creature veered its charge a little a little to its right. So instead of crushing our whole group to a pulp, it only caught the unfortunate soldier, ramming him into the wall with a sick crunch, and crushing his entire upper body into bloody, gory pulp.

The ogre didn't even seem fazed by the fact that he had just run headfirst into a solid stone wall. Turning with unexpected speed, its right arm lashed out. Again, I tried to stop him, and again, I failed. My _Cone of Cold_, once more far too weak due to its rushed casting, failed to freeze the ogre's limb, despite the covering of frost already on the creature's arm. The monster hit the tower guard with a brutal backhand, and the man was smacked back, flying a distance before hitting the ground. He did not get up.

Alistair moved forward to engage the beast, shield up and sword slashing forth, probing for weaknesses. The only one of note was the fact that the ogre was holding his right arm limply, and it appeared that my repeated cold spells did have some effect after all – just not enough of an effect to have saved the lives of our comrades in arms.

As I backed off to prepare a spell, Alistair danced around the beast. The ogre, with its left arm, lashed out, again and again, trying to grab Alistair. But my companion was too fast, and too agile, always keeping out of the ogre's reach, while his sword snaked out to slash the ogre on his arm every time the creature attacked.

But my spell was ready, and I screamed for Alistair to get out of the way. Alistair dived under the ogre arm's as it lunged, and scrambled away to the right.

I blasted my _Fireball_, hotter and denser than any I had prepared before, into the monstrous juggernaut. It caught the creature right in his chest, and I let the _Fireball_ explode. I gritted my teeth, as I struggled to contain the explosion, and to limit it to just a few square meters around ogre, rather than consuming all of us in the chamber.

When the immolating fire faded, the creature was gone, wiped from existence, and not even ashes remained.

It was over.

Alistair and I checked the soldier and the tower guard for vital signs, but it was a futile gesture of hope – they were dead, as men with caved-in chests and broken necks tended to be. But their sacrifice was not in vain, for we had reached our goal.

Leaving our dead comrades, I lit the beacon with a burst of fire.

I moved over to one of the chamber's south-facing windows, and looked out over the battlefield.

What I saw instilled in me a despair so deep that I almost choked.

The woods to our south was aflame. There was a veritable sea of torches, as uncountable and as innumerable as the stars in the sky above. The torches were moving, and the terrible truth is implied was that there was a darkspawn for every torch.

How many darkspawn were there? Who could tell? It could have been a hundred thousand, or two, or three. Whatever its size, the horde dwarfed the twenty thousand that Ferelden was fielding at Ostagar.

That was our third and most deadly mistake, in underestimating the sheer size of the horde.

I looked down into the valley, where the darkspawn had swamped almost its entire length. There was no visible fighting, which belied the fact that all our defenders in the valley – the King, Duncan, the Grey Wardens, everyone – were dead. Dread settled at the bottom of my stomach.

I looked over to the south-east, where Loghain's forces were. Torches marked their position, but there was no visible movement. Despite the signal, they had undertaken no charge, and made no attempt at a flanking manoeuvre.

Alistair, who had joined me at the window, noticed the same thing. He cried out in dismay and outrage. He pounded the window ledge, asking over and over, why Loghain's forces were not charging.

Personally, I didn't know which I found more terrifying – the fact that Loghain's forces were not charging, or the fact that even if they did, they would be crushed by the vastly greater darkspawn horde anyway.

It was over. The battle was lost. Stemming this tide of darkness was impossible.

No.

_No._

My pride battled with my despair, as it reminded me that, with magic, all things were possible.

You merely had to pay the price.

I closed my eyes.

I had to make a choice.

It was a difficult choice, but as with many difficult choices, it was ultimately no choice at all.

Against my duties as a Grey Warden, against the need to stop the darkspawn, against all those innocent lives that would otherwise be lost – my life was nothing.

So I used _Blood Magic_, reaching deep into my mind, and touching the point where I was connected to the Fade.

I wrenched the connection wide, wider than was natural, wider than was safe, wider than was wise.

I could feel the Fade, in all its pulsing intentionality. I could feel the power of the beyond. I felt that power flow into me, and with it, a titanic infusion of certainty.

I opened my eyes. Something about them must have changed, for when Alistair looked at me, he took a step back.

He asked me whether I was fine, and I told him to be quiet, for I had to concentrate.

I conjured a _Blizzard_, a freezing and howling storm colder than any winter. It is one the strongest spells a mage has in his arsenal, capable of freezing massive areas. I used it to just this effect, directing it against the Tower of Ishal itself, and turning to ice the whole of the tower's base and lower levels. Giant icicles, curved and wicked, were formed, jutting out of the ground and out of Ishal itself. No one and nothing could get into the tower now.

It would not do to be interrupted for the next step.

I looked out, at the countless torches that dotted the southern hills, all burning bright against the night sky, and from that infinity of small flames, I summoned an _Inferno_. No spell was stronger than the _Inferno_, for the more it consumed, the hotter it grew. I caressed the fiery tempest, and made it burn hotter, larger and longer, as it swallowed the whole of the horde. The fire reached for the sky, and at that moment I thought I had never seen anything more beautiful. I knew that everything and anyone caught in it was not merely burnt to ash, but immolated into nothingness.

For how long I sustained the inferno, I cannot say. But when the end came, it came suddenly. There was only pain, the breaking sound of something that ought not break, and then the darkness which swallowed me whole.

-(=DAO=)-

And that is how I earned my second epithet: _Hero of Ishal_. Not everyone called me that, of course, for not everyone knew of my heroic altruism at Ostagar. Truth and lies are so hard to distinguish, sometimes, especially since lies are easily swallowed, while truth makes for a bitter pill.

And that is the story of how I scaled the Tower of Ishal to grasp victory against the darkspawn at Ostagar, though at the cost of something very precious to me.

Hmm? My tale only reinforces the notion that I am inclined towards dangerous magic, the sort of which devastated Denerim? I see. I see that very well.

-(=DAO=)-

Grand Inquisitor, you accuse me of a monstrosity, comparable to Dumat poisoning the minds of men! I say that I killed men without mercy; I saved the Circle of Magi from the demons of the Fade; I brought Arl Eamon back from the doors of death; I slew the werewolves of the Brecilian Forest; I rediscovered the Anvil of the Void; I threw down a pretender with my left hand and with my right crowned a King; I slew the Archdemon with my magic to quell the blight itself. In this courtroom of clowns, what need do I have of defending myself?

-(=DAO=)-

There is a city, dead and broken and shattered by blight and blood magic.

In the city, there is a room, vast and dark and silent.

In the room, there is a man whose guilt makes him fear the embrace of sleep.

-(=DAO=)-

A/N:

1. Thank you for all the praise and encouragement, guys. It really motivated me to write the second chapter.

2. Regarding similarities to _Game of Champions_ (the issue as raised by Drisful). I shamelessly admit to being influenced by Lamora's masterpiece, but I think the similarities also come from us both being influenced by Patrick Rothfuss's _Kingkiller Chronicles_. I don't think the similarities are bad – I strive to capture that sense of awe and wonder that both stories are so good at evoking. I also think that the similarities with GoC are somewhat unavoidable, inasmuch as it is a side-effect of writing a silent protagonist – one who never speaks directly in the context of the narrated story. Regardless, I believe that Amell and Red are very different, in terms of motivation (ruthless pursuit of the greater good vs. apotheosis) and personality (arrogant cock vs ambitious but nice guy).

3. Apologies if this chapter is too similar to canon. _Blight-Queller_ is story of the Warden who ended the blight, and so in key respects it does follow canon. Ostagar is the one part of the storyline where there are the most similarities. I promise this will not be the case for the rest of the story (can you imagine Amell running off to find Andraste's ashes?).

A/N: Thank you for all the praise and encouragement, guys. It really motivated me to write the second chapter.


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